


The Elibean Chronicles (On Hiatus)

by pixelpiano



Category: Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: (it was a deserved stabbing though), Accidental Intentional Murder, Alcohol, Angst, Bisexual Sain is Best Sain!, Canonical Character Death, Captured, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Comfort, Deviates From Canon, Eliwood Cameo, Family, Fantastic Racism, Fights, Fire Emblem Blazing Sword Spoilers, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Friendship Makeup, Graphic Stabbing Scene, Hiatus, I have no clue how drinking ages work in Elibe..., Kent you Racist Bastard, Linguistic Nerdiness, Loneliness, Meaningful Dream Sequences, Multi, Non-Binary People Exist Y'all!!, On Hiatus, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sain you Hopeless Flirt..., Semi-Canonical Character, Shenanigans, Slice of Life, Symbolism, Tragedy, Ursula Cameo, Will that ballista ever be relevant??, but only slightly - Freeform, prison break - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelpiano/pseuds/pixelpiano
Summary: A re-telling of the Elibean Fire Emblem Games (Blazing Sword and Binding Blade) that expands upon their stories, and attempts to flesh out various characters and their relationships. A large work in progress without a consistent schedule...As of 30 September 2018, this work is on indefinite hiatus.





	1. Prelude I: Wings of Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> This is a project that I've been in the midst of creating for years now. Since I have been working on various chapters in a non-linear order, I decided to finally work on the beginning prelude chapters so that I could finally set this work in motion!
> 
> As this is a huge work in progress, I will be updating the tags/relationships/warnings as they become applicable. I also do not yet have plans for a consistent upload schedule, so you will have to bear with me on that. This will be my main project on this account, but that doesn't mean side projects won't happen as well.
> 
> As of 30 September 2018, this work is on indefinite hiatus.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Lyn rescues a pegasus knight in-training from having crashed into a tree, and the two end up becoming fast friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to name Lyn's trusty steed 'Makar' as an homage to the typo in-game where Florina accidentally refers to her pegasus by the same name, despite referring to her as 'Huey' in all other instances. There's a chance he will return in later chapters, but I haven't decided yet...
> 
> This chapter also happens to be a decent bit shorter than the usual length of the rest of the chapters, just as a heads up!
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

             “Ugh, no-…come… _on_ Makar! We have to go home now! The camp is…mmf-… _this_ …way! Geez, you stubborn horse…!”

             A young girl, no older than 12, fights with Makar’s reins to no avail. She finally stops, slumping over and burying her face in his mane for a moment with a sigh.

             “ _Ughhh_ , fine,” she groans, sitting upright again, blowing a strand of emerald hair out of her face with a huff and dropping her hold of the reins, “ _There_. Have it your way!” She taps her heels against the horse’s torso, and Makar takes off trotting westward. “Whatever this is, it’d better be important…” the girl grumbles to herself.

             After a short while of riding, a large tree peeks over the horizon, and the girl faintly hears cries of panic from its direction. She squints against the early afternoon sun and is barely able to make out, “…a horse?-…no, it has wings! A pegasus! Wow, a real-…oh, but someone’s caught in the branches—they must have crashed!!” the girl gasps as she hurries Makar on. “But why were they-…and why is that person crying and flailing so much?”

             “H-help- _eek_! Someone-… _oww_!” the cries ring out in the distance, as the lilac-haired girl in the tree flails every which way. “Fiora! Farina, help _meee!_ NO! Get away! _Ah_ , I’m sorry! Get— _ouch!—_ off!!”

             As Lyn reaches the base of the tree, the panicked cries become accompanied by a droning buzz. “Bees…” she mutters to herself as she rides closer. Stopping alongside the tree trunk, Lyn stands on Makar’s back and hoists herself onto one of the lower branches. She climbs towards the girl and her offending swarm of bees, shooing them away as she goes while calling out towards her. “It’s okay! Just hold still and I’ll get rid of them,” she shouts over the droning buzz, but the other girl is too panicked to listen. As Lyn steadies herself precariously on a branch, she reaches toward the panicked young girl to take hold of her and guide her safely do-

_Snap!_

             The branch gives way from under her. She reaches out, taking ahold of the other girl around her waist, unceremoniously yanking her from her perch, and the two tumble down to the ground, landing on the soft grass below…

             Lyn awakens with a groan, slowly sitting upright as Makar nudges her softly. “I’m okay Makar, thanks for worrying,” she tells him pushing his face away. She then looks over to see the pegasus shuffling and whinnying nervously while looking in her direction, and then groans again at the weight of the other girl, now quiet and unmoving, slumped on top of her. “Are you alright?” she asks, as she gently lays her on the ground and shakes her. After a brief minute, the girl stirs and blinks up at her with soft, pale-green eyes.

             “OhmygoshI’msorr- _oww!_ ” the lilac-haired girl cries, rocketing up, then immediately doubling over, wincing and sobbing.

             “Hey, hey, woah, don’t go so fast…we fell from really high up,” Lyn reassures her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

             The other girl continues sobbing hysterically.

             “ _Shh_ , you don’t have to cry, you’ll be okay now,” she says softly, giving the poor girl a pat on the shoulder, and offering her a hankerchief. “Dry your eyes and take a deep breath.”

             After what feels like ages, the hysterical girl’s sobs dwindle to hiccups and sniffles. Her pegasus has since lied down next to her, and nuzzles her for extra comfort and reassurance.

             “Well then I think some introductions are in order, wouldn’t you say?” Lyn suddenly pipes up. “My name is Lyn, and my horse’s name is Makar. Really, if there’s anyone to thank, it’s him for leading me here in the first place.”

             “Ah, yes! Thank you, to the both of you!” the girl stammers, jumping up and giving a stiff bow. “My name’s Florina, and my pegasus here is Huey. I’m…” her voice trails off sheepishly and her gaze falls to the ground, “…I’m a pegasus knight in training,” she mumbles.

             “Wow,” Lyn exclaims, “so you’re from Ilia then, aren’t you?”

             “Mhmm.”

             “What are you doing out here in Sacae then?” Lyn asks furrowing her brow.

             “Well, uhm, I…” Florina’s voice trails off and she hangs her head even lower, barely letting out a whimper, “I…got lost…andthenIfelloffmypegasus,” she stammers.

             “Well, you don’t seem too hurt at least,” Lyn reassures her. “Come, I’ll take you back to camp, and you and Huey can rest up there until you’re ready to return home.”

             “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly-!” Florina starts, her eyes wide, but Lyn has already mounted her horse and looks expectantly back at Florina.

             “You can ride still, can’t you?” she asks.

             “Uhm, yes! I can!” Florina stammers, rushing to climb atop Huey.

             “Good! Then follow me! I’ll ride slowly, so there’s no need to worry about falling off again,” Lyn tells her new companion with a sly wink.

* * *

             “Mother, Father, I’m home!” Lyn calls out as she leads Florina inside her ger.

             “Well met Lyndis,” her father answers. “Pray tell, who is this girl you’ve brought with you?”

             “Her name’s Florina,” Lyn begins, “I found her stuck in a tree while I was out hunting! She must’ve angered a swarm of bees, because she was screaming and flailing and—”

             “Lynnn…” Florina whines softly, as she hides behind her, “you don’t need to tell them…it’s so embarrassing…”

             “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Lyn replies stepping aside and turning towards Florina. “Besides, it’s just my mother and father, they wouldn’t tell anyone.”

             “And just what wouldn’t I tell anyone, Lyndis dear?” a voice calls from another room as Lyn’s mother walks into the main room. As she comes into view, Florina can’t help but stare; Lyn’s resemblance to her mother is stunning, though she can’t help but notice that her mother feels out of place being on the plains.

             “Oh my, I don’t think I’ve seen you before!” Madelyn exclaims as she sees Florina, “Is she the one I’m not supposed to tell anyone about?” she asks. “Perhaps she’s a runaway from one of the other tribes? Maybe she’s on the run from bandits, and you need us to protect her? Or is she your secret girlfriend that you won’t allow me to separate you from no matter what I say to you in protest?”

             “Motherrrr,” Lyn pouts, rolling her eyes, “her name is Florina, and she’s a pegasus knight in-training from Ilia. I found her in a bit of trouble on the plains, and offered to let her rest here until she was okay to head back.”

             “Well that’s wonderfully kind of you Lyndis,” Madelyn tells her daughter, bending down to give her a kiss on the forehead, before turning towards Florina. “You are welcome in our home as long as you’d like dear.”

             “Th-thank you, milady…” Florina stammers meekly.

             “Oh goodness, we’ll have none of such formalities under this roof,” Madelyn tells her, “you are our guest, and we shall treat you as such. Just Madelyn is fine dear.”

             “O-okay!”

             “Now then, lunch will be ready soon girls, so you’d best wash up!”

* * *

             “Ah, the time! I really must be getting back Lyn,” Florina says, having finished lunch and then sitting and talking with Lyn for a while.

             “Aww, so soon?” Lyn protests, “couldn’t you stay just a little longer?”

             “My sisters back home are probably already worried sick about me…I don’t want them to be mad at me…”

             “Oh, okay.” Lyn says softly, her head hanging slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay to fly back then?”

             “I think so, yeah,” Florina replies, “but really, thank you again for everything! I…I’m really glad I got to meet you Lyn”

             Lyn’s face beams with a smile, and she pulls Florina in for a hug. “Me too! You should come back and visit sometime!” As Madelyn passes the entrance to Lyn’s room, she calls to her mother, “Can she mother? Please?”

             Madelyn chuckles softly and steps into the doorway. “Florina, you are always welcome in our house whenever you’d like.”

             “Oh, thank you ever so much mil-, oops!” Florina catches herself. “Thank you miss!”

             “Alright, come on! I’ll help you get ready to go” Lyn calls, grabbing Florina’s arm and pulling her towards the main room. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back to visit!”

             Madelyn can’t help but smile as she watches the two girls leave. “She seems like a nice girl,” she says to herself, “I do hope she visits again, she does seem to make Lyndis ever so happy…”

             Outside, Lyn helps her new friend onto her pegasus. “You will come back soon, won’t you?” Lyn calls up to Florina while she makes her final checks.

             Florina nods eagerly in agreement, sending her lilac curls bouncing every which way. “I promise!”

             “And maybe try not to fall off your pegasus next time?”

             “Hey! You promised you’d stop teasing me about that!…”

             “Heh, sorry…” Lyn apologizes, twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. “But, say, does all of this mean we’re friends now?” she asks.

             “Well, I…think so?” Florina answers quizzically. “But why?”

             “Because friends always stick together, and help each other no matter what, right?” Lyn says, “so I figured, if we were friends, then that would mean no matter what happens, I’d always know I’d be able to count on you!”

             “Count on me!? I feel like I’d only get you into more trouble…” Florina replies meekly, “I feel like you’d be able to do much more for me than I ever could for you…”

             “Oh, nonsense,” Lyn answers, shaking her head, “You’re training to become a knight, aren’t you? Gracefully soaring atop your pegasus and striking at foes from the skies?? That’s so cool! And it makes you a perfect friend for if I ever need protecting!”

             “I don’t know if I’ll ever make it past training though…my sisters already have had to help me so much just to get where I am…”

             “I know you can do it!” Lyn tells her, looking her in the eye, “you’ll need more practice, sure, but I know you’ll become a wonderful knight someday!”

             “You…you really think so?” Florina asks, looking back at her new friend’s determined face.

             “Absolutely,” Lyn says, nodding her head in affirmation. “But sitting here talking won’t help you much in that, so you really should get going before it gets dark.”

             “Right!” Florina replies, preparing to take-off. “Untill next time then?”

             “Mhmm, I’ll be waiting.” Lyn answers.

             With a final nod, Florina turns and rides to just outside the campsite. Lyn watches in awe as the pegasus spreads its wings and, with a running start, leaps gracefully into the air and flies towards the northern border.


	2. Prelude II: Familial Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While we get a glimpse of life for the Lorca on the Sacaean plains before that fateful day, Lyn learns of some painful news regarding her family and her tribe. The second prelude to the Elibean Chronicles.

* * *

             The sun creeps over the horizon, and sheds its first rays of sunlight across the Sacaean plains. Boys and girls alike are saddling up their horses, stringing their bows, and checking their packs and supplies thrice over. The youngest are barely eight years old, and the eldest nearly twenty, yet they all ride with abundant skill and grace. As with most Sacaeans, Lorcan children are taught to ride the sacred animals of Sacae as soon as they can balance properly in a saddle, meaning most children by the age of five have already spend half their life riding. The boys, in turn, will learn of bowfaire and sometimes swordplay from their fathers, while the girls learn of more domestic activities like cooking and weaving. Excited chattering buzzes throughout the camp as the youngest say goodbye to their families, excited to join their first hunt, and as the eldest talk amongst themselves to plan out their route.

             Towards the front of the hunting party, a young woman chats happily with the tribe’s chieftain. The chieftain will be the one to send off the hunt, and will then conduct the ceremonies and festivities that will take place that night.

             “As always father, I shall strive to make you and the others proud,” the girl says, as she ties her long, emerald hair back in a long ponytail.

             “You already make us very proud Lyn,” the chieftain replies with a kind grin, “please, never forget how honored I am to have you as my daughter.”

             Lyn hugs her father happily, before mounting her horse at the head of the group. She is not the eldest of the hunters in the group, but as the eldest (and only) child of the chieftain, she is expected to lead the hunt at least until she becomes chieftain herself. Chieftain Hassar turns to face the rest of the children on their horses, his arms raised in preparation to speak, and a hush falls across the children.

             “While the past few moons have been less than prosperous,” he begins, “we are, as always, thankful to the Mother Earth and Father Sky for the wonderful blessings they gift us with. I wish you all a bountiful hunt, and look forward to celebrating the young ones who will truly leave this camp as children for the last time, as by the morrow they shall have since proven themselves as children no more.” Hassar pauses momentarily, happily taking in the sight of the excited new children who are eager to leave. A Lorcan’s first coming-of-age is marked by their first hunt, an event that takes place around a child has turned eight or nine, and which they look forward to eagerly. It represents their ability to provide for their family, and the rest of their tribe, and is always celebrated the night after the hunt occurs with a grand ceremony.

             “May your arrows fly as true as your hearts!” he announces finally, “A hundred blessings upon you all.”

             “And a thousand blessings upon this land!” a chorus of voices echoes back, before riding off from the edge of camp towards the western hills. As the riders and their horses grow smaller and closer to the horizon, the calm silence of morning returns to camp as the adults prepare for the long and exciting day ahead.

* * *

             The children return from their hunt well past noontime. Animals are slung over the backs of horses, and many pouches of fruits, herbs, and spices hang full at girl’s waists. The youngest children immediately jump off their horses to see their families and recount every last detail of their first hunt, an event that will surely stick with them even in their final years. The older children take the time to unload their rewards and begin preparations for the evening’s celebratory feast. After making sure things are in order, the chieftain’s daughter returns to her ger to greet her family.

             “Father, mother, I’ve returned!” Lyn calls as she enters the hut, stopping short just inside the entrance. She catches a glimpse of the two in sullen conversation before they hear her, but their faces of concern quickly become faces of happiness when they notice her.

             “Welcome home Lyn dear!” her mother calls back. Though her voice rings cheery, she wrings her hands in her lap as she greets her daughter.

             “I am glad to see you return safely as always my daughter,” her father adds, his kind eyes hiding hints of weariness, “how fared the hunt today?”

             “The young ones had a wonderful time, though I fear it was no more bountiful than the last,” Lyn answers. “Is everything alright?” she asks, “did I interrupt something important?”

             Her father lets out a sigh before he answers. “I just returned from a council meeting with the elders,” he tells her, “but it is nothing that need concern you for the moment. Perhaps we may speak on it more tonight, after the festivities.”

             “Are you certain father? Is there anything I can do for you?”

             Chieftain Hassar smiles warmly at his daughter. “Just promise me that you will always stay true to yourself, Lyndis,” he says

             Lyn beams at her father and hugs him tight. “I promise,” she tells him. She then gives her mother a kiss on the cheek before ducking out of the hut again to go help with the preparations.

* * *

             The sun hangs low on the western horizon as the first sounds of celebration ring out across the plains. Musicians play on drums and flutes, dancers leap this way and that while dressed in elaborate, colourful costumes, and tables are filled to near collapsing with food and drink. The children for whom today was their first hunt chat excitedly with each other while dressed in ceremonial garments, as they nervously await the beginnings of their recognition ceremony. Adults, old and young alike, talk, sing, dance, and generally enjoy one another’s company on such a special night.

             Lyn, however, finds herself at the outer edges of the celebration, which is held around a large bonfire in the centre of camp, and she sits and eats in the silence of her own company, as if oblivious to the festivities around her. She remains lost in her own thoughts to the point that she doesn’t notice even as her mother approaches her, calling her name.

             “Lyn dear! Goodness, what are you doing out here all by yourself? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with everyone else?”

             “Mother?” she replies, snapping out of her trance, “My apologies, I didn’t notice you there.”

             “You seem not to be noticing much of anything Lyn,” Madelyn replies teasingly to her daughter, “what’s on your mind?”

             “Hm? Oh, nothing at all,” she lies, “it’s just been a long day and I fear I may have overdone it helping out. Are you enjoying the festival?” she asks in an attempt to change the subject.

             “Well _I_ am,” her mother answers, giving her daughter a knowing look, “but you clearly have something else on your mind. You might fool your father with that excuse, but not me.”

             “I…” Lyn begins, avoiding her mother’s gaze as she lets out a deep sigh. “Mother, what were you and father really talking about this afternoon?” she finally asks. “I feel like the rest of the tribe has been avoiding me the entire day,” she continues, “any time I would offer to help, I would be shooed away, and anytime I would enter a room, people’s conversations would suddenly drop to whispers.” She pauses again before finally looking up towards her mother, “have I done something wrong without knowing? What is everyone not telling me?”

             “Lyn dear—,” her mother starts with a sigh, but she is cut off by her husband’s voice echoing over a quickly hushed crowd. “We can talk later tonight,” she whispers, “the young ones’ ceremony is starting.”

             “My people,” Chieftain Hassar begins, “as you all well know, every day our Mother Earth and Father Sky gift us with blessings, from the skins that keep us warm at night, to the food that keeps our bellies full. But we are not handed these gifts freely, of course, and we all know that we must also give thanks as well to those who helped deliver these gifts to us today. So, to our sons, daughters, and all children of the Lorca, we honor you tonight.” Cheers ring out through the crowds, now gathered to one side of the central fire-pit facing Hassar.

             “For some of you,” he continues, “this was your first time joining your brothers, sisters, and other siblings in this endeavor. Thus, we have gathered tonight to celebrate your efforts, as you have proven to us that you are no longer children, and thus you shall proudly serve your families as men and women of the Lorca from this evening forth!”

             As Hassar finishes his speech, he turns towards the young ones who now stand to begin the ceremony. The rest of the tribe applauds each individual as they receive their recognition, and even after the ceremony finishes with another closing speech from Hassar, the celebrations and festivities still continue well into the night…

* * *

             Madelyn wobbles slightly as she enters the doorway of her ger, steadying herself a bit on the entry frame as the sounds of joyful merrymaking continue to persist from the centre of camp. After a moment of balancing in the moonlit entryway, she makes for her room to lie down. As she passes Lyn’s doorway however, she stops, hearing the faint sounds of crying coming from within. Doing her best to collect her bearings before facing her daughter, she peeks into Lyn’s room to find her face down on her cot, sobbing quietly into her pillow. “Lyn sweetie—,”

             “Ah! Mother!?” Lyn bolts upright in surprise while wiping at her eyes. “I-, I thought you’d still be out enjoying the festivities,” she adds hurriedly, attempting to blink away the lingering tears.

             “Yes, well, I suppose I could say the same for you as well love,” Madelyn replies somewhat cheekily, before slumping to the floor next to her daughter’s bed. “In truth, I may have had a little too much wine whilst celebrating, and came to lie down for a bit…” she admits sheepishly.

             “Ah,” is all Lyn can answer with as her gaze falls to the floor.

             “But it breaks my heart to see my dearest Lyndis troubled so,” Madelyn continues, attempting to meet her daughter’s gaze, “and I do still owe you an explanation from earlier…”

             “The elders think that I, both as a woman and a half-blood, am not fit to lead the tribe,” Lyn says, her eyes full of hurt and anger. “That about sums it up, doesn’t it?” she adds, as if begging her mother to tell her otherwise.

             Madelyn’s eyes widen in shock, then narrow in anger. “Who told you that!?” she demands with a venom that surprises even herself.

             “I overheard Elder Sulan passing on his best wishes to Kolkar as our soon-to-be new chieftain shortly after the ceremony ended,” Lyn begins, already choking on another wave of sobs.

             “Of _course_ it was that dastard Sulan…” Madelyn mutters, scowling. “I hope he chokes on his wine tonight…”

             “All this time,” Lyn continues, “I thought everyone respected father’s decision to have me lead when I came of age to. But this whole time all they’ve really done is insult our family behind our backs at every turn, haven’t they!? They probably begged him to have another child, to bear a son to inherit the title of chieftain instead of me—!” Lyn’s desperate accusations dissolve yet again into sobbing as she buries her face in her arms while Madelyn rests a comforting hand on her crying daughter’s shoulder.

             “Lyndis, sweetheart,” her mother begins, taking a deep breath, “we’re unfortunate to live in a time where women aren’t respected as much as men. That’s just the aggravating truth of the world, no matter where you live.” She pauses, trying to collect her thoughts in her spinning head, “to tell you the truth, the tribe has always been somewhat distrusting of your father for marrying me, just as my blood family disowned me when I ran away to live with your father. But the both of us were simply too smitten with each other to let their words bring us down at the time, and so we carried on without a care. And when I held you, our beautiful new daughter, in my arms for the first time, I knew that we had made the right decision to be together, your father and I,” she pauses again, this time reminiscing with a distant smile on her face.

             Lyn’s sobs dwindle to mere whimpers, and she dries her eyes on her blanket before turning to look at her mother. “Maybe if I hadn’t been born a girl, I could’ve made your and father’s lives easier,” she says matter-of-factly.

             “Oh, hush,” Madelyn retorts, earning a confused look from her daughter, “life isn’t supposed to be easy, silly. Besides, your father and I have been the happiest we’ve ever been since the day you came into our lives, and we have never once wished for you to be anything but yourself. Our only regret was the unfairness of knowing that, no matter how well you lived your life, you would be forced to bear the scorn and ridicule that we had earned without you.”

             “But you and father didn’t deserve any of that for doing what made you happy!” Lyn interjects, “You weren’t hurting anyone, and-,” she hesitates, “and I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t…” She sighs, then looks at her mother before continuing, “I suppose I should be thankful that you and father did what you did to receive such disdain, even if it wasn’t earned…”

             “You sound just like your father sometimes, you know?” Madelyn giggles, running her fingers through her daughter’s hair endearingly, “he would always reassure me when you were young that no matter what, you would grow up to both have the resolve to fight against anything for your own happiness, and to be able to love others unconditionally. And look at you now, I can’t think of a single person with more determination or love in their hearts than you Lyndis,” she adds, planting a kiss on Lyn’s forehead.

             A half-smile forms at the corner of Lyn’s lips, and she hugs her mother tight around the waist. “Thank you, mother, and to father too, for everything you two have done for my sake,” she says, looking into her mother’s familiar eyes. “No matter what happens, I won’t stop trying to make you and father proud.”

             “Your father and I will always be proud of you Lyndis, all we ask is that you don’t lose sight of yourself and what makes you happy,” Madelyn says, holding her daughter close. Their moment is interrupted by the sounds of rustling hide from the entryway, and Madelyn kisses Lyn’s cheek one last time as she stands to go greet her husband. “It’s getting late dear, why don’t you get ready for bed while I go talk with your father for a bit?” she tells her.

             Lyn nods in response, the kind look in her own eyes having returned once again, and she begins undressing for bed.

* * *

             The next morning, Madelyn wakes up with the sunrise, nursing a splitting headache from last night’s wine. She dons a shawl against the morning chill, and moving carefully and quietly so as not to disturb her family. She finds a quill and stretch of parchment, and sits down at the table in the main room to begin a letter:

 

 

 

> _Dear father,_
> 
> _It’s been nearly 19 years now that I left Castle Caelin, hasn’t it? I apologize for not writing to you sooner, as I am sure by this point if you even still remember me, you likely think me long dead by the hands of brigands._
> 
> _I am writing you this letter from my home on the Sacaean Plains, the homeland of my husband Hassar (though you may remember him as “that harebrained nomad”, as that is what you used to call him if I remember correctly). He and I wed shortly after I left, and we have been living safely and happily on the plains here ever since._
> 
> _We also have a daughter of our own who is 18 now, named Lyndis after her late grandmother. She has your kindness and composure, mother’s passion and determination, and the honesty and loyalty of the Sacaean nomads within her. She only knows of life out here on the plains, which I do believe has been the best for her until now, but I’m sure she would love to meet her grandfather and see the rest of the world someday in the future._
> 
> _I understand if you haven’t the heart to forgive me for leaving you all alone after mother died. While I have no regrets about leaving, do not think I haven’t spent a single day without thinking and worrying about you, and hoping for your health. If nothing else, know that your daughter has been living a happy life since the day that she left, which is something I have come to realize the importance of knowing since having a daughter myself._
> 
> _With love, and many overdue apologies from your reckless daughter,_
> 
> _Madelyn_

             She sits back and rests a moment in the quiet morning atmosphere as the ink dries. She then folds the parchment neatly, leaving it on the table as she goes to dress for her ride to the nearby capital city Bulgar. When she is ready, she slips her letter into her coat pocket, scribbles a second note that she leaves on the table for her family to see should they wake before she returns, and leaves to deliver her very important postage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I had originally only planned to have two prelude chapters before writing the prologue chapter, this chapter already felt like it was getting somewhat long, and I want to make sure that the most important and final part of the prelude (spoiler, it's the Lorcan massacre) gets the attention it deserves. However, I really liked the idea of writing a sort of slice-of-life chapter giving some characterization to the Lorca, since I felt it was a real shame that they (like Lyn) were criminally underdeveloped in Blazing Sword. 
> 
> Thus, I tried my best to capture the essence of the Lorca tribe by drawing from various tidbits about Sacae from various supports in the games, as well as some real-life native american traditions and beliefs. This also means that my writing style for this chapter was slightly different than usual, as I attempted to sneak in some lore during pauses in the actual story to give the tribe a little extra attention (since, another spoiler, they won't be around for much longer...)
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. Enjoy!


	3. Prelude III: A Shattered Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What begins as an ordinary evening becomes a night that will burn itself into Lyn's memory, and change her life forever.

* * *

_Prelude 3: A Shattered Peace_

             The first warnings of fighting come before the sun dips behind the hills of Sacae. Scouts ride door-to-door, calling the men to arms, and escorting the women and children to safetey in the centre of camp. As Lyn and her mother make their way towards safety, she watches the first skirmishes break out at the edges of camp. Their warriors’ arrows fly true as ever, and brigand after brigand falls, their dishonorable lives are the price for their crimes.

             The women and children are greeted by the sight of their new chieftain as they cluster around the centre of camp. In times of war, a chieftain who chooses not to fight alongside his own men is deemed a coward. However, for mere skirmishes or raids such as these, there is no need for him to join his men on the battlefield unless he wishes to—a brigand who dies attacking a helpless victim will not die with honor, and a chieftain prefers to face honorable warriors in combat.

             At the chieftain’s side stand four warriors, their bows slung over their shoulders, ready at a moment’s call to defend their people should any of the barbarians attack the chief or, worse yet, try to bring harm to the innocents gathered around him.

             The crowd is filled with hushed murmurs. Mothers whisper reassuring words to their frightened young ones, while the older boys crane their necks to catch a starry-eyed glimpse of their brave fathers defending the camp. The chieftain consults with the elders, seeking their advice, and the rest of his people wait in silence to be able to return home.

* * *

             But the minutes soon become hours as the sky darkens overhead, and the once-frightened children become restless. _“I wanna go home…”_ they whine, _“When’s it gonna be over? This is boring… Why are there so few of them?? I thought brigands were supposed to be scary!”_ they lament.

             Lyn finds herself mulling over some of the children’s disappointed conversation. _“They’re right,”_ she thinks, _“Most brigand raids are rarely this uneventful.”_

             “Lyn sweetheart, you’re awfully sullen all of the sudden…” her mother says.

              “Sorry mother,” she apologizes. “Just lost in thought is all. Is it just me, or does it feel like there are so many fewer bandits than usual?”

             “You almost sound disappointed!” Madelyn replies teasingly.

             “No mother,” she groans, “I’m serious. Something about this feels off. I just have a bad feeling…”

             “Or perhaps you’re not used to having your father on the battlefield instead of by our side…” her mother suggests. “I’ll admit, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about him, but you and I both know how capable your father is.”

             “Maybe your right…” Lyn replies somewhat solemnly.

             “I’m sure these past few weeks have been difficult on you,” Madelyn continues, “you probably feel like your life has been turned upside-down. Hell, I’ve been there before, and I know just how disorienting even the smallest things become… But I promise you, soon we’ll have put this all behind us, and life will go back to feeling normal again.”

             “I hope you’re right, mother.” Lyn says, with a faint smile. She then wraps her arms around her mother and hugs her tight. “Thank you, for everything mother. I love you so much” she tells her.

             Madelyn hugs her daughter back and plants a kiss on her forehead. “I love you too my dear, sweet Lyndis. And I promise, I’ll always be right by your side as long as you need me…”

             Suddenly, a panicked energy sweeps through the crowd. “Smoke!” one of the women cries, pointing to the edge of the camp. Everyone squints against the starlit horizon, barely making out trails of smoke rising lazily from several points around camp. The faint crackling of flames begins to echo through the camp amongst the sounds of fighting outside, soon joined by the sounds of distraught families helplessly watching their houses begin to burn.

             Kolkar’s face is suddenly overcome with horror. “They plan to torch the campsite!” he yells, “These ruffians have just been a distraction!!”

             As if on cue, the warriors begin appearing, having retreated from the front lines. “Some of our houses are ablaze!!” they relay to their chieftain, “Most of the brigands retreated, but they may plan to regroup once our numbers are thinned! What should we do?!”

             “My people!” Kolkar announces, turning to and drawing the attention of the panicked crowd, “time is of the essence! As your new chieftain, your lives are my responsibility. There is no sense in us staying here and fighting. Pack up what possessions you can, and make southward towards Bulgar. Think of this no differently than any other migration. We shall scatter from this place and regroup at the capital, and then we shall find a new place to call our home again.”

             Nods and murmurs make their way through the crowd, and those families fortunate enough to live closer to the centre of camp begin hurriedly rounding up their children and making for their gers to collect their things.

             “Wait!” Lyn suddenly shouts, drawing the attention of the chaotic crowd. “Chieftain Kolkar, I think this is a trap!”

             “Excuse me!?”

             “We can’t run, we need to stay here and fight! We should send groups to put out the fires, but we must remain here!”

             “I will not have my authority questioned by a _girl_ ,” he snaps back, narrowing his eyes at her. “You are the daughter of Hassar, no?” he asks, “you would do right to learn your place—your father is no longer the chieftain girl, and in his place you dishonor me with your impudence!”

             “Wait, please!” she cries, “listen to me—running is exactly what these brigands want us to do!! Don’t you see? Only the gers at the edge of camp have been set ablaze—they mean to smoke us out and slaughter the runaways!!” She turns and addresses the crowd as a whole, “They’ll have us surrounded, waiting to pick off anyone who thinks they’re smart enough to run away—they don’t mean to ransack the camp, they mean to torch it and let the rewards come to them!! If we put out the fires—”

             _“Silence!!”_ Kolkar growls, glaring furiously at Lyn who turns to meet his gaze, “you _dare_ to take advantage of our dire situation to try and play hero!? You _aren’t_ and never _will be_ chieftain of this tribe, and you have no business giving orders to _my people!!”_

“Chieftain, please, I do not wish—!”

             “It’s too late now for trite apologies, daughter of Hassar.” Kolkar scowls, “if you would like to stay behind and take your chances with brigands, then so be it. But if I hear one more traitorous word out of your rebellious mouth, I will see to it personally that you are banished from this tribe!!”

             Lyn trembles, both in anger and fear. She doesn’t dare speak a word as incoherent thoughts swarm through her head, and she stands, frozen in place. The rest of the tribe has become hesitant, looking between Lyn and their chieftain, murmuring amongst one another.  

             “Do not let the frightened ramblings of a hysteric child frighten you,” Kolkar calls out to his uncertain people, “I am sure she is not thinking straight right now, and few of us can blame her. She shall come to her senses when we have reached safety. Now go, time is dwindling ever shorter! Grab your things while we still have time, and we shall escape before any of us can come to harm!”

             The crowd dissipates around Lyn, still frozen in place. _“They’re being lead to their deaths!”_ she fumes, _“and all at the expense of Kolkar’s pride!”_

             _“Lyn!!”_

             Lyn blinks back into reality, wheezing slightly at the smoky air that has since begun to envelop the camp. Her mother grabs her by the arm and begins dragging her back to the ger. “Honestly,” Madelyn begins, exasperated, “what were you _thinking_ Lyn? I know you may not be the happiest with the chieftain, but dishonoring him in front of the whole tribe…?” She continues to lecture her daughter as they dash for home, but Lyn has since tuned out the rest of the world around her. She finally feels the hand around her wrist let go as Madelyn runs inside to begin collecting their belongings while Lyn remains unresponsive, her gaze unfocused and blank.

* * *

             The next few minutes are a blur. She remembers standing on her own two feet one minute, and sitting atop Makar the next minute. Her father rides with them as well, but when or how he found them, Lyn cannot remember. She rides mechanically, letting her body take over while her mind continues to remain detached and afloat.

             _“Lyn!!”_

A voice keeps calling out to Lyn, but she doesn’t respond. She cannot respond, for her lips will not move. The voice feels distant, but somehow familiar.

             _“Lyn, lookout!!”_

Her hand is gripped around something heavy, and cool to the touch. She thinks it’s her sword. It feels like her sword, but why would she have her sword?

             _“Lyn! Are you okay!? LYNDIS!!”_

Something twitches in the back of her mind. Only her parents call her that name. She feels weightless, and a slight breeze blows against her face…

_*THUD*_

Lyn snaps back to reality as her face slams into the ground. As her head throbs, she pushes herself up and looks around frantically. She lies just outside the edge of camp, the flaming gers now burning high, forming a ring of fire around her home. Her mother rushes her side, helping her up.

             “Mother…?”

             “Lyndis, what happened?? You fell off your horse!”

             Lyn feels a warm hand press against her forehead.

             “You’re pale as ever Lyndis; your skin is ice-cold.”

             “I-…I’m fine mother…”

             “She can ride with me!” Lyn hears her father call from in front of them, “but we don’t have time to be stopping!!”

             “I’m trying!” Madelyn calls to him. “Sweetie, come on, we have to get out of here…”

             “No, wait! Mother, father, _please!!”_ she cries, shaking her mother’s hands off her, “we have to go back, we won’t survive out here!!”

             _“Curses!”_ her father cries, “we’ve been spotted! Madelyn, Lyndis, get back!!”

             Lyn turns and sees a wave of brigands blocking off their only way out. As they begin to advance on her and her family, Lyn draws her sword and instinctively steps in front of her mother, suppressing every muscle in her body which screams at her to run back. Several of the brigands towards the front stop cold in their tracks and crumple to the ground, felled by the arrows of her tribespeople. But just as soon as they fall, more continue charging forward to take their places. Lyn takes a deep breath, exhaling the clouds from her mind, and braces herself for the oncoming onslaught…

* * *

             As the wave of bandits crashes down upon her like a wave, Lyn hears nothing, and sees only the enemies in front of her. She thrusts and swipes, ducking and sidestepping; acting out the steps of a deadly dance with an endless string of changing partners. When they advance, she retreats. When they swing left, she darts right. When one foe falls, another appears, and Lyn continues her dance, by the faint light of her burning home, under the starlit sky.

             She turns to begin yet another round, but this time stops cold in her tracks. She sees another pair of dancers a short distance away—her own mother has just become someone’s dance partner. Lyn abandons her own partner and runs, in slow motion, towards the familiar dancer and her partner. She watches as they circle each other, darting to and fro. Their dance is choppy, somewhat stilted, and the time to change partners comes all too soon. With the swing of an axe, Lyn watches her mother fall, as if bowing before an imaginary audience, and then remain limp on the ground.

             Her father suddenly appears, demanding a dance from Madelyn’s recent partner, which he accepts gladly. Her father’s dance is not unlike her own—he flies around his new partner at a dazzling pace, spinning and swiping and twisting and thrusting. In perfect symmetry they move about, and the dance continues for centuries on end. They leap over others who have since finished their dances. Their weapons meet, then quickly abandon each other. They execute perfectly rehearsed moves time and time again, and their sole audience member stares in awe…

             But as elegant as it is, this dance, like all the others, must too come to its close. And yet, even in the end, this dance manages to surprise its onlooker as both dancers make their final lunges. They freeze, suspended in time and space. Then, gracefully as ever, the two dancers take their final bows and sink to the ground below.

             This dance will not be carried to another, it has truly ended.

             And Lyn’s mother and father will never dance again.

* * *

             Lyn does not look back. She cannot look back. If she looks back, they will die for good.

             Instead, she runs. Straight through the still burning embers of ravished gers. She doesn’t think about where she goes, she simply lets her feet guide her. Each footstep feels both heavy as they thud against the earth, and light as they carry her across the grass.

             She does not stop until she reaches home. Her house has been untouched by the flames. She hides inside. She doesn’t dare leave it again. After all, the last time she left her house she had lost someone dear to her. Two someones dear to her.

             She waits in terror, huddled in a corner of her room. She cannot figure out how long she sits there. Instead she shuts her eyes tightly; she does her best to try and sleep. Perhaps she will wake up, and this will all have been a dream.

             She hears strange footsteps that seem to come through the front door. Her hand darts to her waist, but there is no hilt to be grasped. She must have dropped her sword earlier. It doesn’t matter anymore.

             Instead, a familiar face pushes its way through Lyn’s door flap—Makar has returned to see her. She doesn’t know how he made it back through the flames. She doesn’t know how he knew to find her here. But his presence fills her with false hope. If he can return, then maybe— _just maybe—_ her parents are just a few steps behind him.

             She waits all night, Makar sitting restlessly by her side.

             She listens as the sounds of fighting die down.

             She smells the air begin to lose its smoky tinge.

             She feels the first rays of sun begin to warm her.

             When she can finally wait no longer, she slowly gets up and steps out of her room. Her house doesn’t look any different, save some clutter. Perhaps her parents are still asleep, and will wake soon to begin their day.

             She steps outside—the air hangs heavy with silence.

             She makes her rounds through camp—save for a few burnt gers, the camp is relatively untouched.

             She walks towards the edge of camp—the morning sun feels abrasive against her skin. She gazes out across the plains, and is met with a sea of lifeless bodies. Two in particular stand out to her—a man and a woman who lay next to each other. Their hands are clasped together, and though their eyes are glazed over, they are locked in a loving gaze, looking but not seeing.

             She watched them die, and did nothing to save them.

             Lyn feels hot tears well up inside her, and her throat tightens fiercely as she sinks to her knees helplessly. She tried and failed to save them, to save everybody, and from above she feels their souls glaring down at her in shame.

             She spots another lifeless body through blurry eyes, a stone’s throw from where her parents lie. Regret is etched on his face. Perhaps, in his final moments he admitted his errors to himself. Perhaps he made peace with his grave decision, and will go on to live an honorable afterlife in spite of it. To his people, he was chieftain—but now he lays equal amongst Lorcan and brigand alike.

             She tried to warn him, but he did not listen.

             She does not do what an honorable Lorcan would. She takes the coward’s path and runs. She runs as far as her legs will carry her, tears streaming down her face.

             She does not do what a wise Lorcan would. She takes the fool’s path and does not look where she runs, does not search for her sword to protect her, just runs.

             She does not do what a strong Loran would. She takes the weaklings path as she lets her fear overcome her. She let her people die and now she refuses to face them.

             She is nothing like the Lorca are.

             …

             She is nothing like the Lorca _were_.

             She _is_ the Lorca now.

 

             She runs until her knees buckle under her…

                          …she collapses to the ground…

                                       …sobbing…

                                                    …panting…

                                                                 …wheezing…

 

Nobody hears her crying…

                                                    …there is nobody left to hear her…

…she passes out in the beating sunlight…

                                                    …and a hush falls over the plains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy wow, I struggled a lot to write this chapter--the past few days have been absolutely rife with infuriating writer's block. Though, in hindsight, it really hasn't been that long, and perhaps I've been a little too hard on myself for working on future chapters other than this one. 
> 
> This is the last of the preludes, the fateful Lorcan massacre. I really don't have anything to say other than I hope I did it justice. After this, Lyn's familiar story will finally begin, and since I'll have a more rigid structure for the chapters (as opposed to the preludes, which are all essentially original content), there may be a slight change in writing style as well, idk.
> 
> As much as I'd love to keep elaborating on the backstories of other characters (the fall of house Cornwall and Zephiel's early family life come to mind as particular possibilities), I also want to get to the actual story at hand, partially since I already have a few of the early chapters written, and partially to prevent this work from just becoming entirely backstory (though perhaps I can add those sorts of chapters in later or during the interlude--let me know what you'd think about that?)
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are appreciated. Enjoy!


	4. Prologue: A Girl from the Plains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half a year after losing her family and her tribe, Lyn rescues a mysterious stranger who appears without warning

* * *

_Prologue: A Girl from the Plains_

             Lyn lies awake yet unmoving in her cot. Skins are scattered around her bed from another restless night of sleep, but she doesn’t bother to pull them back over herself. She stares at the ceiling of her cramped hut, with deep circles under her eyes. She makes an attempt to roll out of bed, but only succeeds in rolling over on her side, and now finds herself staring at the wall for a change of scenery. She ignores her stiff limbs and growling stomach, and continues to lie motionless for hours on end.

             When she eventually heaves herself out of bed into a standing position, she shuffles outside, not bothering to dress in day clothes, and is met by the blinding noonday sunlight overhead. She squints laboriously as she gazes across the plains, but they remain as empty and lifeless as ever to her eyes.

             Eventually she brings herself to eat, her lightheadedness and cramping stomach overcoming her absent appetite, and she nibbles absentmindedly on a stale biscuit from the dwindling stash of food she has piled up in a corner of her tiny hut. She fishes out a handful of meal from a bag in the pile, and exits once again to go feed Makar, who emits a relieved snort as she rounds the back of her tent into view.

             “I’m sorry bud,” she apologizes to him with a sigh, “you’ve probably been starved and worried all morning, haven’t you?” He nuzzles her in response, and she strokes his face in further apology. The two continue to stand together in silent solidarity for a while.

             Finally, Lyn takes a deep breath and starts talking aloud as she plans out her day. “Right, I don’t think we can put off getting food any longer. What do you say to us making a trip down to the capital for food? I’ll buy you a treat for being such a trooper these past few months Makar,” she adds, giving him another loving pat. “But I think some fresh air and a quick change of scenery will do us some good, don’t you think?”

             Makar stomps a presumably affirmative response, and so Lyn goes back to change her clothes and get Makar’s saddle ready for their afternoon trip.

* * *

             While the afternoon sun beats down on Lyn and her horse, the wind of the plains feels gentle and cool on her face. She stretches, letting the wind blow through her sky-blue robes and, for a brief moment, a genuine smile flickers across her face.

             Her moment of enjoyment is short-lived however as Makar stops suddenly, and causes Lyn to jolt in the saddle. She looks around frantically, startled and confused, until her eyes fall on the source of Makar’s emergency stop. Lying in the middle of the grass in front of them is a person, face-down, and unmoving.

             “Oh my gods,” Lyn whispers, hurriedly clambering off Makar’s back and hurrying towards the downed stranger. “Are you okay!?” she shouts, receiving no response. She kneels down next to and begins to shake them gently, calling out to them. They still don’t answer and they remain limp and splayed on the ground, their dark green-and-gold cloak wrinkled, askew, and strangely cool to the touch despite the heat.

             After a bit of struggle, she manages to turn the stranger on their back. She lays her head across their chest, and feels a steady rise and fall, and the sounds of shallow, but regular breathing. “They’re still alive!” Lyn cries in relief, as she gazes down upon the stranger’s face. She brushes the auburn bangs from in front of their eyes, and finds them closed, with a relaxed expression on their face, as if only lost in a deep sleep.

             “Makar, what should we do!?” Lyn asks in concern, “we can’t just leave them here. Do you think you can carry them back with us? I know it’s not the trip we planned, but I would never leave a stranger in harm’s way like this…”

             Makar trots up behind Lyn and nudges her before kneeling down to the ground next to the stranger. Lyn nods, and begins awkwardly lifting and dragging the mysterious person, until they are eventually slumped over in the saddle, their arms and legs straddled across the horse’s back. Lyn climbs in behind the stranger, holding them around the waist to prevent them from falling, and gives Makar a slight click of her heels. Makar carefully stands, and then takes off trotting back towards camp.

* * *

             Lyn doesn’t sit still for the rest of the afternoon. She has lain the stranger on her bed, and covered them with a few skins for when they wake, but with nothing else to do but worry, Lyn paces nervously around the interior of her tent. She has jumped at every movement and noise, having so many questions for her comatose companion, but as always, when she turns her head to look at them she is met with the sight of their motionless body. By now, the late-afternoon sun begins to sink towards the horizon, and begins to peek in through the flaps in the front of her tent, a bright stripe plastering itself over the stranger’s eyes.

             Suddenly, Lyn hears a groan, and watches her companion stir for the first time as their face twists in discomfort, and they begin to slowly sit up, stretching their sore limbs and propping themselves up on their hands. Blinking in confusion, they turn to face Lyn with a look of utter disarray.

             “Uhm…are you awake now?” is all Lyn can manage to ask, quickly berating herself for such a ridiculous question.

             “I-…yeah…” the stranger groans, their voice slightly hoarse. “Where am I? And who are you?”

             “I found you unconscious on the plains!” Lyn blurts out. She then lets out a sigh before continuing, “My apologies, I am Lyn. We are in my home on the plains of Sacae. I promise I mean you no harm, and you are safe now.”

             “Well…thank you, Lyn.”

             “And who are you? Can you remember your name?” Lyn asks.

             The stranger ponders a moment as if in deep thought before answering. “My name? Mark, I believe…”

             “Mark? Hmm, what an odd-sounding name,” Lyn remarks, now giddy with bemusement and relief, “oh, but pay me no mind, it is a good name. Judging by your attire, I would assume you are a traveler, no? Where do you come from, and what would bring you here, to the Sacae plains? And how may you have come to be—”

             She suddenly stops, watching her companions face become somewhat distressed. “Ah, how rude of me…” she mutters, irritated with herself, “my apologies again, I don’t mean to bombard you with questions as soon as you wake. Why don’t I make you some tea and let you collect your bearings first? Then perhaps you would share your story with m—”

             Suddenly, Lyn’s attention is caught by the distant sound of gruff shouting and yelling and cheering. “Would you excuse me,” she asks politely, “I’ll go see what’s happening outside. If you wouldn’t mind Mark, wait here for me…”

             Mark sits fully upright, still somewhat dazed. “ _What’s happened?”_ they ask themselves quietly, _“how did I end up here? Did she save me?…”_ they ponder.

             Their thoughts are interrupted, however, as Lyn rushes back into her tent in a state of fury. “It’s bandits…” she growls, ignoring her new companion’s face of concern. “They must’ve come down from the Bern mountains again, and if my guess is correct, they’ll be planning on raiding the local villages up north. I-, I have to stop them,” she continues, lost in her own anger, “if it’s a smaller party, I think I can handle them on my own, but…”

             “Lyn?” Mark finds themself asking.

             “Ah, Mark, of course; you’ll be safe if you just wait in here.”

             “No milady, that’s not it,” they continue, “if you’ll accept my aid, I…I wish to help you.”

             “What?” Lyn asks in shock, “You…you want to help? Can you use a weapon?”

             “Well…not exactly,” Mark admits sheepishly. “However, I am a strategist by trade, so perhaps I can offer you advice if you are worried about going against them whilst outnumbered?”

             “A strategist…an odd profession I’d say, but-,” Lyn pauses, pondering for a moment. “Very well, I accept your aid. Let’s go together!”

             Lyn straps her sword around her waist, resting a hand on her blade and waiting as Mark quickly stands and begins hurrying outside. “Wait,” she calls to them, grabbing a spare sword lying upright against the tent’s interior, “Take this, just in case! It’s a dulled weapon for training purposes, but it should block an axe if needed!”

             “Thank you, Lyn,” Mark replies, accepting the sword and following her outside.

* * *

             “This looks too large to be a scouting party,” Mark mumbles to themselves, watching the pack of brigands make their way north from the distant mountains. “But perhaps, if they spot your tent, they’ll split their numbers and give you an easier time dealing with them?” they say to Lyn. “And if I can serve as a decoy, that would give you the chance to get the upper hand on them whilst their backs are turned.”

             “Well, it’s certainly more elaborate that I had planned,” Lyn replies, “you’re not secretly acting as _their_ decoy to throw me off guard, are you?…”

             “As I’ve only known you for a few minutes milady,” Mark replies in complete seriousness, “I have no reason nor desire to send you into a deathtrap. You have my word that I am not with those ruffians.”

             “Fair enough. Are you sure you’re willing to act as a decoy though?”

             “Well, _you_ may know that I’m wielding a training sword with no combat experience, but that doesn’t mean _they_ do…”

             “Again, you have a point,” Lyn muses. “Alright, I’ll watch and strike when their backs are turned,” she says, slipping away behind the back of her tent.

             Mark watches as the brigands continue northward, and breaths a short sigh of relief as they watch a small group split off and head towards them, leaving the rest behind to wait. They duck back inside the tent, gripping the sword Lyn gifted them at their side, and wait for them to arrive.

* * *

             “All right then!” a gruff voice barks from outside the tent. “Anyone inside this miserable little hut ‘ere?”

             “Just myself,” Mark replies from inside, “but I’m armed, and have little of value. If you leave me and my possessions, I’ll let you leave with your lives…” _“Perhaps that was a bit much,”_ they think to themself, gripping the sword now in both hands for confidence.

             “Well well, sounds like the pup can bark, but does ‘e bite?” comes the voice again from outside the tent. “Why dontchya come out here and show us yer sword arm then if yer that scary…”

             “I prefer not to waste my skills on such lowlives…” Mark answers, their voice shaking slightly.

             “What’d he call us, boss?” another voice pipes up from outside.

             “He thinks us some fools who don’t know a real warrior from an actor,” the first voice replies. “That does it!” they shout, “We’re coming in to make ya beg fer yer pathetic little life!”

             Mark turns to face the door, the sword feeling like lead as they hold it in front of them. _“Come through for me, Lyn...”_ they beg silently, their knees buckling slightly.

             A hand casts the flap of the tent aside, and a stocky man dressed in ragged civilian’s garments stands in the doorway. With one look at Mark, he burst out cackling.

             “What a scared little pup! Gotcher tail tucked between yer legs now, mutt?” he hoots, as Mark’s eyes are drawn to the axe in the man’s hand. “Ya eyein’ my axe there, bud?” he says, watching Mark’s gaze snap back in surprise, “This ‘ere’s a real weapon! Nuthin’ like that pathetic little trainin’ sword you got there. Hell, you prob’ly can’t even cut butter with that dull hunk‘a metal!”

             Mark stammers, but no words come out. _“He’s smarter than I had hoped…I really wish she’d hurry up!!”_ they think frantically. Even as they attempt to step back, Mark finds their legs refuse to move. They instead watch in fright as the man’s eyes narrow, and he lifts the axe up in both hands. “Don’t you fret boy,” he growls, his eyes filled with menacing delight, “I’ll make it qui—!”

             His taunting is cut short however, and he lets out a surprised gasp as Mark watches a blade pierce through his chest. The blade withdrawals, and the man crumples to the floor, axe and all, leaving the silhouette of the plainswoman standing in the doorway, backlit by the setting sun.

             Lyn then clutches her arm and winces, and Mark sees a tear in her robes stained lightly with blood. “The rest will be on their way shortly Mark, and I’ll need to meet them head on,” she commands, gesturing towards the shelves in the back of the tent. “One of the men outside got my arm, would you grab a couple vulnerearies for me?” she asks. Mark nods hurriedly, retaining command of their limbs, and grabs two vials of medicine before following Lyn outside.

             “I apologize for taking so long,” she tells Mark as they emerge from inside, “these men are tougher than I first thought.”

             “Smarter too…” they reply, “I’m honestly just glad to still have my life.”

             “Well pay attention, or you may not for much longer,” she replies. “I’ll go for their leader and take them down that way,” she insists, “I’m assuming he’ll be the one leading the charge?”

             “That’s a pretty safe assumption with brigands,” Mark replies, “but are you certain you can take him on all by yourself?”

             “Do I really have much of a choice?” she answers, her voice quivering slightly before turning to look at her companion. “Mark, if I look like I am about to fall, I want you to drop your sword and run!”

             “Lyn?—”

             She cuts them off, “I don’t want you to grieve for me, or try to avenge me. I want you to flee. Don’t waste your life on a stranger like me, do you understand!?”

             Mark nods begrudgingly, then turns to face the incoming charge of brigands. Lyn draws her sword, taking a deep breath, and prepares to make her move.

             As the raiding party approaches, they begin to slow, wary of the two individuals standing amongst their fallen men, and the leader orders them to stop. “Who do you think you are!?” he calls out to them, receiving no response. “Well well…this lass almost looks like she wants to _fight_ me!” he jeers to the rest of his men, earning some murmurs of agreement from the crowd behind him. “Well girl?” he asks, brandishing his axe, “you think you can stand up to Batta the Beast!?”

             “If I defeat you, will you leave us alone and promise to return with your men to the mountains?” Lyn asks, her sword hand shaking violently.

             “ _Hah_ , as if,” he growls, “but let’s get this over with, I’m not letting a pretty face like you get away from me…”

             Lyn sighs, drawing her blade, and Mark watches as the two begin sizing each other up. As Lyn makes to strike her foe however, Batta ducks down and swipes for her leg, tripping her with his axe, and sending her tumbling swiftly to the ground. She stares helplessly, having lost her grip on her sword as she fell, as Batta looms above her and grins menacingly, bending down to grab her by the neck of her robes.

             Before Mark can process what they are doing, they find themselves running towards Lyn and Batta. Almost as if in slow motion, they scoop up Lyn’s sword in one hand, and lunge at the hunched over Batta, swatting the axe from his hand. Before Batta can react, Mark makes another swipe at the brigand leader, this time earning Batta a clean slice across his shoulder. As Batta staggers back, groaning in pain, Mark makes their third and final calculated strike and pierces him through the chest, driving the sword all the way through Batta and out the other side.

             Then Mark blinks back into reality. They look in disbelief at their own hand, still gripping the hilt of Lyn’s sword which sticks out of Batta’s slumping body, and then look out across the small crowd of shocked and frightened brigands.

             Batta himself gasps in disbelief. “How—?…How did…you—?” he attempts to ask, but his question is cut short as his dying breath escapes his lips.

             A few brigands watch in paralyzed horror as the mysterious hero finally draws the sword from out of their leader’s limp body, brandishing it in their direction, but most of their brethren have already abandoned their weapons and began fleeing back towards the mountains…

* * *

             “I sorely underestimated him, Mark, I’m so sorry for causing you so much worry,” Lyn apologizes, as the two sit cross-legged in front of one another drinking some freshly made tea. The previous evening’s events ended with the two companions dragging themselves to Lyn’s abode and promptly passing out from exhaustion.

             “As I have said already Lyn, there’s no need to apologize. I’m still not sure how I even managed to pull off such a feat myself. It’s as if my hands moved of their own accord…”

             “Nonetheless, I owe you my life, and that is a debt not easily repaid,” Lyn answers.

             “On the contrary, you took in an amnesiac stranger passed out in a field on a whim,” Mark responds, “if anything, I’d say _I’m_ the one who’s just repaid my life debt to _you_ …”

             “…amnesiac?” Lyn responds, taken aback. “You mean-?”

             “Ahh, right…we never did get the chance to properly introduce ourselves yesterday, what with our little interruption,” they chuckle in response. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag now. The truth is, I have no memory of my past…”

             “Oh no! Mark, I’m so sorry—”

             “Peace, Lyn, you really have nothing to apologize for. My earliest memory that I can recall is waking up in your cot out here in the middle of the plains. The only other things in my mind have been my own name and, strangely enough, a startling amount of knowledge of military strategy, tactics, and other knowledge of warfare. I may have been lying slightly when I told you I _was_ a strategist. Truth be told, I only assume I must’ve been one in whatever life I’ve now been separated from.”

             “You…have nowhere to go then, is that it?” Lyn asks, her gaze falling towards the floor as she fiddles with a strand of her hair. “No family, or friends, or anyone to return to?”

             “Not that I can remember,” Mark responds, taking another sip of their tea. “In fact, if it wasn’t too much trouble, well…” they pause, looking away sheepishly, “I had kind of hoped I could ask you to escort me to the nearest town. I couldn’t possibly demand any more hospitality of you, and were I to find a place to settle down, perhaps I could then begin to search for clues about my previous life…”

             “…I see…”

             “Ah, but if I’ve asked too much of you already, you need not hesitate to—”

             “No, no, it’s not that,” Lyn replies hurriedly, “It’s just…well, in that case, allow me to ask you something…a favour of sorts.” She hesitates before continuing, “You have some experience in the ways of war I can clearly see. And, if you’re certain you’ve no family or life to return to, then, well…would you allow me to travel with you?”

             “You? Travel with me?” Mark responds skeptically, “what of your family though?”

             “My family…?”

             “Well, surely they would rather _die_ than to hear their beautiful daughter had run away with a mysterious stranger with no direction?” they add with a hearty laugh.

             But Lyn does not return Mark’s amused reaction, and instead lets her gaze fall to the floor and lets out a pained sigh. “My mother and father,” she begins, tears already running down her cheeks, “they…died, six months ago. My people—the Lorca—they don’t…I’m the last of my tribe…”

             “Oh gods, Lyn…please, I beg you forgive my insensitive joking just now.”

             Lyn shakes her head in protest, and continues talking between sobs. “Bandits attacked us…they killed so many people. The tribe was decimated…My father, he had been our chieftain, and my mother was a foreigner who ran away with him before I was born. I tried to protect our people, but…I’m still so young, and our people were old-fashioned…They wouldn’t follow a woman, least of all a child of mixed blood like myself…no one would listen to me…” she continues to sob, barely able to form words. “I’m sorry Mark, here you are with no family, in a stranger’s house who’s bawling her eyes out in front of you…I’ve just been alone…for so long…”

             Mark sits beside Lyn and wraps a comforting arm around her. She slumps against them and cries for what feels like hours, until her sobs are finally reduced to soft, shallow breaths.

             “Th-thank you…” she finally hiccups, sitting back up and drying her eyes against her sleeve, “I’m sorry. I promise, no more tears.”

             “It’s quite alright,” Mark replies, “do you feel better now?”

             “Much better, yes,” she answers, “and I think I’ve realized something as well.”

              “Oh?”

             “I…I want to become stronger. I want to avenge my parents, and my people, and to do that, I’ll need to be stronger than I am now. Yesterday’s battle made me realize that I can’t move on if I remain alone here, drowning in my own grief.” Looking up at Mark, she begs them, “Please, tell me you’ll let me travel alongside you?”

             Mark smiles, and places a hand on her shoulder, “well, with resolve like that, would you even accept no for an answer?” they chuckle. “I’d be honored to have such a talented companion to travel with. Perhaps…I might even learn some swordplay from you while we’re at it? In case we run into more ruffians like yesterday?”

             “After your display yesterday, I’m not sure there’s anything _I_ can teach you…” she tells them, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

             “As I said before, were I to try and replicate yesterday’s skirmish a million more times, I don’t think I’d ever pull that off again—I simply panicked!” they protest.

             “Well, if what you say is true, I’d be delighted,” Lyn responds, leaning back against her new partner and letting out a contented sigh. “A master strategist, and a peerless warrior—I’ll bet we could take on the world…don’t you think?”

             “Well, I’d hardly call myself a ‘master strategist’, and world domination may be a bit of a high bar to start with” Mark chuckles, earning a glare from Lyn, “but I do believe we’ll both be able to find what we’re looking for, as long as we do it together.”

             The two lie against each other for hours, talking and laughing the hours away, each enjoying the other’s companionship. And as the sun eventually sets beneath the western mountains, they lie side-by-side as they wait for morning to come to begin their adventure together.

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, Lyn's adventure is finally underway! Chapter 1 will also probably be up soon, since at the time of uploading Prelude 3 I had both this chapter completed and Chapter 1 about halfway done as well. I've been doing a lot of jumping between chapters as I work on this project, which is part of why my uploading schedule will be so inconsistent.
> 
> You'll probably notice that Mark (the tactician) has assumed the role of an actual character doing actual things! I plan on writing them as a Robin/MU sort of a character (not necessarily in the self-insert/avatar sense, but in the tactician-who-actually-participates-in-battles-and-the-story sense), and have quite a bit planned for them in the future. And since I couldn't settle on either a male or female tactician for the character, they're non-binary now (because representation is important!! Also because it lets me play with some of the character interactions and dialogue along the way)!!
> 
> As always, feedback and comments are very much appreciated (like, seriously, I wanna know what you think!) Enjoy!!


	5. Chapter 1: Footsteps of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyn and Mark cross paths with a pair of seemingly unseemly knights in town as they set about preparing for their journey.

* * *

 

_Chapter 1: Footsteps of Fate_

             At first light, Lyn and Mark pack up what little supplies Lyn has remaining in Makar’s saddlebags before riding off towards Bulgar. Mark, still half-asleep, rides behind Lyn, their arms wrapped around her waist as they doze against her for most of the ride.

             As the entrance of the city comes into view, the sounds and smells of the bazaars entice Mark awake, earning them a teasing remark or two from Lyn. “This is Bulgar,” she then announces to them, “the largest city in all of Sacae. Anything we want for our journey we should be able to find here.”

             They dismount at the gates, and walk side-by-side through the various stalls and vendors that crowd the streets. The two spend hours walking up and down the lines of stalls, stopping to make pleasant conversation with many strangers along the way as the morning goes on.

* * *

             “Oh, my heart! What dazzling visions of loveliness!” a voice suddenly rings out from behind them.

             Mark turns towards the source of the voice, and is met face-to-face with a knight who’s pale-green armour shimmers dully in the morning market sun. The knight tousles his hair nonchalantly, his sappy eyes looking expectantly at Mark.

             “Uhm, Lynnn…?” Mark asks hesitantly, reaching back to nudge her while not daring to take their eyes off the imposing stranger.

             “Hm?” she answers, turning towards them.

             “Enjoying this lovely morning at the market, I see,” the knight continues without hesitation, “though surely you ladies are in need of some assistance with carrying your purchases, no?”

             “I-, I think we’re fine, thanks,” Mark begins, stuttering slightly, “also, I’m, er, afraid you’re mistaken about me…” they add meekly.

             “Ah, such a delicate flower who thinks herself overshadowed by the other lovely blooms,” the knight all but swoons, “but I can assure you my dear, I find your shyness as enticing as your beautiful face.”

             “Er, no, actually, I, uhm…” Mark stammers.

             “What my companion means to say,” Lyn begins curtly, “is that we have no need of assistance from you, _sir_ , and will be on our way now if you don’t mind.”

             “Wait! O beauteous ones!” the knight cries, “if not your company, then would you not at least favour me with your names?”

             “Where are you from, _sir knight,_ that you speak so freely to a couple of strangers?” Lyn asks, still glaring at the offending stranger.

             “Ah, I thought you’d never ask!” he chuckles vainly. “I hail from Lycia!” he announces, drawing some stares from nearby market-goers, “from the Caelin canton, home to men of _passion_ and _fire,_ such as myself.”

             “Mayhap you mean ‘home to callow oafs with loose tongues’?” Lyn retorts.

             “Ahhh…” the knight laments, “even your cruel tongue is beautiful in its own way…”

             “Oh, by the!—come on Mark, let’s go. I have nothing more to say to this knave…” Lyn huffs, before storming away. Mark quickly follows behind her, and eventually sighs in relief when the knight’s figure finally disappears into the crowds behind them.

* * *

             “You just can’t hold your tongue for two seconds, can you Sain!?”

             “Ah, Kent!” Sain jumps, whirling around. “Ah, my boon companion…” he starts, a guilty smile plastered across his face, “heh…why so severe an expression?”

             “If your manner were more serious, I wouldn’t need to be so severe!” Kent scowls irritably before turning back to scan the crowd. “In case you’ve forgotten, we still have a mission to complete.”

             “Yes, yes, I know that. But how could I remain silent in the presence of such beauty?” Sain continues, “It would have been downright discourteous!”

             “And what would you know of courtesy, you lout!?” Kent snaps.

             The two knights continue to bicker amongst the crowded bazaar until Kent finally notices someone watching them impatiently.

             “Excuse me,” Lyn asks them, “the two of you are blocking the road. If you would be so kind as to move yourselves and your horses out of the way…?”

             Mark, meanwhile, clings to Lyn’s arm nervously upon recognizing the knight in green from earlier in the morning.

             “Ah, of course ma’am.” Kent bows, guiding his horse to the side of the main road and gesturing for the woman to pass. “My sincerest apologies.”

             “Thank you.” Lyn replies. “You, at least, seem honourable enough for a knight,” she adds, glaring in Sain’s direction before making her way past, pulled along by Mark.

             “But of course,” Kent answers. As he glances up and catches her eye, he blinks in surprise. “Ah…ma’am, I mean no disrespect, but…I almost feel as if we’ve met before.”

             “I beg your pardon?” Lyn asks, stopping abruptly in her tracks, causing Mark to lurch backwards.

             “Heyy, Kent!” Sain whines, “No fair, I saw her first!!”

             “Don’t you dare try and spoil this for me Sa—”

             “Hmph, I should have known!” Lyn fumes, “It seems I was mistaken after all—there are clearly _no_ decent men amongst Lycia’s knights!” She turns squarely about and grabs Mark by the hand, “Come on Mark, let’s be off. I’ve run out of patience for these buffoons…” she says before strutting off for the entrance.

             “No, wait, please! I didn’t mean-!” Kent calls after her, to no avail. “Sain, you-, _you-_ , you _absolute-_!”

             “I didn’t think you had it in you—stealing away a damsel from right under my nose,” Sain continues dejectedly, ignoring his sputtering partner. “Granted, your charm was impressive, I must admit—”

             “I wasn’t trying to wile her you fool!!” Kent shouts, drawing stares from the surrounding crowd

             “Huh? You mean you weren’t-?…”

             “I am _not_ you, Sain…” Kent growls, lowering his voice as he points a threatening finger in his companion’s direction, “now look at what you’ve done! Come, we must follow her, I suspect that it’s her…”

             “What, our mission? _She’s_ our mission??” Sain replies incredulously as Kent hurries on ahead. “You must be-! Hey, wait up!!” Sain calls, chasing after his partner.

* * *

             “Lyn, I don’t mean to be paranoid, but I think we may be being followed…” Mark begins from atop Makar, just outside the city’s entrance.

             “Is it those knights from town again?” Lyn asks, exasperated, as she loads the last of their supplies into the saddlebags. “I swear, if I have to hear their antics one more—”

             “No, it’s not them, but someone’s definitely after us Lyn,” Mark cuts her off, their voice growing increasingly panicked as they crane their neck back towards the city gates. “They look to be out for blood, and they’re headed straight for us—we have to go, _now!”_ they yell, holding an outstretched arm down towards Lyn. She grabs ahold of their hand and vaults into the saddle behind Mark, who gives Makar a sharp prod with their heels, sending them into a panicked gallop.

             They ride away from the capital at a breakneck pace, but soon find themselves face-to-face with a hoarde of brigands, appearing as if out of nowhere in the middle of the outbound road, bringing their escape to a screeching halt.

             Mark looks around in a panic, for a guard, another traveler, _anyone._ Instead, they are met with the hopeless sight of rows of more brigands between their location, and the city gates that are now a considerable distance away from them.

             The brigands begin to step aside as a particularly rugged individual emerges from the crowd. The apparent leader swings an axe menacingly over his shoulder as he steps closer, sizing up the two travelers. Mark sits, trembling at the reins as he approaches, while Lyn simply glares down at him from behind, her hand resting patiently on the hilt of her sword.

             The leader walks around to Makar’s side, stopping an axe’s swing away from Lyn. “Well, ain’t _you_ the pretty one!” he leers up at her

             Lyn offers him no response, but continues glaring down at him, her hand gripping her sword

             “ _Bah,_ not exactly the most pleasant lady now though, are we?” he continues, “your name _is_ Lyndis, is it not?”

             Lyn’s heart plummets to her stomach upon hearing her name. Her hands fall limp at her side, and her eyes widen in horror. “Wh-…what did you call me?”

             “So, you _can_ speak, then,” he laughs. “Ah well, doesn’t matter anyway…”

             “Wh-who are you…?” Lyn stammers.

             “Such a waste,” he sighs, ignoring her “An absolute waste, I tell ya—the things I do for gold…” he shrugs, nonchalantly. “Welp, no more sense dawdling—time to die darlin’! Get ‘er boys!”

             The bandits begin closing in on Lyn, who remains frozen in shock. However, as they approach, the distant sound of galloping hooves steals their attention as a pair of knights, clad in red and green, ride rapidly towards the group of ruffians, weapons brandished. “There she is!” one of them calls, “Hang in there, milady!”

             The two knights effortlessly break through the circle of brigands, coming to a halt on either side of Mark and Lyn, their lances brandished almost theatrically.

             “Hold!” the knight in green announces, “What is your business here foul knaves? Such numbers against a girl? You’re all cowards, every last one of you!!”

             “Thank goodness we finally caught up to you,” the knight in red says to Lyn.

             “You!—” Lyn starts, “you’re from—”

             “We can discuss that later,” he says, cutting her off. “For now, it appears these men mean to do you harm,” he says, turning towards the group of offending bandits. “Well, if it’s a fight you want, you may look to me!” he announces.

             “Nonsense!” his green-clad partner calls. “Stand back! I’ll take care of this!!”

             “Both of you!” Lyn shouts exasperated, “This is my fight, I do not need you in my way at a time like this!”

             “It is a knight’s duty to protect those in need!” the red knight announces.

             “I’d never turn away from a couple of damsels in distress!” the green knight chimes in.

             “We’ll argue about this later!!” Mark yells suddenly. “For now, you two—follow us, and watch our back!!” they yell, snapping Makar’s reins and charging forward.

             Makar runs head-on towards the wall of brigands. As predicted, the line scatters in the face of a galloping horse, allowing Mark and Lyn to make their escape. They gallop away earnestly, leaving the two knights to follow suit, and a group of disgruntled bandits to mourn their losses.

             “ _Damn,”_ the leader curses as their target and their saviors ride away, “Accursed knights! Always tampering in our affairs…There was only supposed to be a lone girl!” he scowls in protest as he hurls his axe to the ground in defeat.

* * *

             “Are we safe now, Lyn?” Mark asks, as Makar begins slowing down in fatigue. “I don’t think we can run much longer…”

             “I don’t think they’ve pursued us, no,” Lyn replies, “and I agree, Makar needs his rest.” She reaches past Mark to give her horse a pat on the mane as he finally slows to a halt. “That was good thinking back there, taking them by surprise like that. Though, I’m sure I could have—”

             “Goodness, for a couple of ladies, you sure know how to ride!” a voice announces from behind. The two whirl around to be met with the knights from town riding up behind them.

             “That was some gambit!” the green knight continues, “using our squabbling to take them by surprise.”

             “Thankfully they weren’t able to pursue us from foot,” his acquaintance in red adds, “they’ll be long gone by now.”

             “Thank goodness,” Mark sighs, the reins dropping from their trembling hands.

             “In that case,” Lyn says, turning around in the saddle, “Knights of Lycia, not only have we not been properly introduced, but I believe I’m owed an explanation for your actions today, no?”

             “Of course milady,” the red knight admits sheepishly. “You may address me as Kent, and my… _intrepid_ companion here is Sain,” he notes, receiving a protesting scoff from his companion. “We have ventured from Caelin, in Lycia, in search of someone.”

             “Lycia…That’s the country beyond the mountains to the south-west, yes?” Lyn asks

             “Correct,” Kent confirms, “We’ve come as messengers to the lady Madelyn, who eloped with a nomad some nineteen years ago.”

             “Madelyn…?” Mark asks.

             “Our lord the Marquess of Caelin’s only daughter,” Kent answers matter-of-factly. “He was so heartbroken his own daughter would abandon him so, and for a Sacaean nomad no less, that one day he simply declared he had no daughter.”

             “But, this year we received a letter from Lady Madelyn,” Sain continues. “She said that she, her husband, and their daughter were living happily on the Sacaean plains. And the Marquess was ecstatic to learn he had a granddaughter of 18 years. Why, I remember the smile on his face when he announced that he’d suddenly become a grandfather,” he says, a dreamy look in his eyes.

             “Their daughter’s name is Lyndis,” Kent adds, “which was the name of the Marquess’s wife, who sadly passed away at far too young an age.”

             “Lyndis…” Lyn says, her glassy eyes staring vacantly ahead as the name rolls hollowly from her lips.

             “For her to bear the name of his deceased wife thawed the Marquess’s heart,” Sain continues. “His only wish was to meet his daughter’s family, and is the reason that we have traveled so far. Of course…” he says, his heartwarming smile fading solemnly, “we did not know that the lovely Lady Madelyn and her husband passed away only days after sending her letter—we only learnt this after arriving here in Bulgar.”

             “And yet,” Kent adds, “we also learned that all was not lost. Her daughter was rumored to have survived, and was living alone on the plains. I…I knew at once,” he stutters, “you had to be the Lady Lyndis.”

             “But…whatever would make you think that?” Lyn asks, all but flinching as the name rings again in her ears.

             Kent shifts awkwardly before responding. “Your resemblance to your departed mother…it’s nothing short of remarkable,” he says.

             “You…knew my mother?” she asks hopefully, her gaze leaping to meet Kent’s.

             “I’m sorry to say I never truly met her,” he says, “but her portraits adorned the halls of Castle Caelin for a time.”

             “I see…” Lyn responds solemnly, her gaze falling once again.

             “I-I’m sure,” Kent continues, stuttering, “…I’m sure she must have been even more beautiful in person…if your appearance is any indication…”

             Sain rolls his eyes and in the background.

             “To the rest of my tribe, I was always known as Lyn,” she starts, not looking up at the knights. “It wasn’t unless I was with my parents that I was called Lyndis.” She pauses again, this time chuckling softly to herself. “It’s strange, and almost funny…I was all alone in the world for months, but now I have a grandfather. I have someone else to call family again…”

             “But wait” Mark starts suddenly, drawing the others’ gazes “that bandit also called you ‘Lyndis’, didn’t he? How could he have known you by that name?…”

             “No,” Kent replies in shock, “he couldn’t have—unless…”

             “Hired by Lord Lundgren no doubt…” Sain answers in disgust. “To think he would stoop so low…”

             “Lundgren?”

             “The Marquess’s younger brother,” Kent replies in turn. “As everyone assumed the Lady Madelyn was gone forever, Lundgren became heir to the title of Marquess Caelin.”

             “To put it bluntly milady, your existence is an obstacle to your grand-uncle’s ambitions,” Sain adds.

             “But, that’s—” Lyn sputters, “I have no interest in inheriting any sort of title!”

             “It seems to me this Lundgren wouldn’t be the sort of man to believe that if he’s willing to send an assassin after his own kin…” Mark replies, earning solemn nods from the knights in agreement. “What do you suppose should be done?” they ask, finally turning towards the knights.

             “Please, accompany us to Caelin,” Kent requests, “Continuing on your own at this point would be dangerous.”

             “Besides,” Sain adds, “the Marquess would be delighted to meet his lovely granddaughter.”

             “I think that settles it then,” Mark says, turning to Lyn, “as long as you agree of course?”

             “I…feel as if I have little choice in the matter,” she sighs.

             “Not at all Lyn,” they answer, meeting her gaze, “the choice is yours and yours alone. I’ll support you regardless.”

             “Truly?” she asks. “I mean, this changes everything Mark…are you certain you wouldn’t mind coming along? Your companionship would put me at ease, but it sounds as if it will be dangerous…”

             “I’ll follow wherever you lead Lyn,” they reply with a smile, taking Lyn’s hand in their own. “Your skills with a blade are impressive I might remind you. And while these knights may be somewhat callous, they _do_ seem to be rather skilled,” they add with a wink.

             “I…thank you Mark,” she smiles warmly in return.

             “Well then, let’s be off!” Sain announces in turn. “To Caelin!!” he yells, raising his lance dramatically and charging ahead, leaving Kent to shake his head in embarrassment.

             And with that, the four new acquaintances set off for the southern border.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long y'all, I just haven't been in the mood to write at all lately on account of depression. I promise that neither I, nor this project are dead! Ironically enough, with school starting soon, I'll likely be MORE inclined to write once I have some structure in my life again (at least, I hope that's the case), so stay tuned for more sometime in the future! 
> 
> Anyways, there's not much to say about the actual story chapters. I will say it's a bit challenging to try and find ways to write action sequences, which is pretty unfortunate seeing as the source material is a strategy game. I'm not sure how "cop-out"-y future chapters will be when it comes to battles, since the fights only grow in scale as the game progresses. It's easy to have four people on horseback run away from a group of bandits to avoid a battle scene; less so to have a group of fourteen all sneak past an entire army and into a heavily-guarded castle...
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think if it's not too much trouble! It always makes my day when people comment on my stuff, especially since you can only leave kudos once on a multi-chapter work...


	6. Chapter 2: Sword of Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before leaving on their journey proper, Lyn requests to stop and pray for a safe journey at the shrine of the Mani Katti. Whilst there, another destiny is thrust upon her...

* * *

_Chapter 2: Sword of Spirits_

             “Ah, knights of Lycia—please, allow us a short detour,” Lyn requests shortly into the start of their journey. “There is a sacred sword enshrined in an altar just east of here. The people of Sacae often go there to pray for safety at the onset of a long journey. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble…” she trails off.

             “Why, how quaint” Sain remarks. “Surely we have time to spare Kent?”

             “I see no reason why not,” Kent nods. “Thought, most of the nations to the south and west all follow the teachings of St. Elimine, Lycia included,” he continues, “I suppose I had assumed that they had spread here as well.”

             “You’re…not that far off actually,” Lyn replies, “Sacae has changed much since I was a girl. Etruria’s influence grows greater each passing year, and I hear some of the western tribes have indeed begun to adopt some of your Elimine’s teachings into their lifestyle.”

             “Well, it’s nice to hear that some of the ancient customs are still observed here then,” Kent remarks. “Granted, I admit, I’d have thought with your mother being of Lycian birth that perhaps you might have grown up with the Saint’s teachings as well…”

             “My people were very traditional, they never would have permitted my mother to spread her western ideologies in our tribe,” Lyn remarks with a hollow laugh. “She told me some of the stories when I was a girl, but truthfully, I don’t think she was particularly fond of them herself. Perhaps they reminded her too much of her old home…” Lyn adds, trailing off, and leaving a sad silence hanging over the group.

             “In any case,” Sain interrupts, breaking the silence, “I see no reason not to respect milady’s wishes. Come, lead the way Lady Lyndis!” he says.

             “Certainly,” she nods, riding forward to take the lead.

             “Wait, Lyn!” Mark says suddenly, taking ahold of Lyn’s shoulder, “Someone’s coming…”

             The group looks ahead to see a lone figure running towards them on foot.

             “Please, travelers, I beg your pardon!” the woman calls as she quickly approaches

             “Ah, a dame in distress who calls for our aid…” Sain comments dreamily, receiving a glare from Kent.

             “Please, forgive the intrusion,” the woman apologizes, addressing Lyn and her cadre hoarsely and out of breath. “Pray tell, are you headed east? To the shrine?”

             “Why, yes,” Lyn answers, “we are indeed.”

             “Thank heavens!” the woman replies, “I beg you, you must hurry and help the priest who’s tending the altar! I saw a band of ruffians force their way inside just a moment ago, and I fear they intend to steal the sacred blade!”

             “What!?” Lyn cries, “how dare they?”

             “Please,” the woman begs, “you haven’t much time!”

             “We shall go at once! Come, follow me!” she calls to the knights as she takes off towards the shrine.

* * *

             “Stay right where you are old man!”

             A gruff man approaches the altar, sword brandished towards an elderly priest who stands calmly at an altar of stone adorned with intricate weavings and carvings. “And hold your tongue, we don’t need your squealing to attract any other manner of swine this way!”

             “You may threaten me with words and weapons,” the priest replies calmly, “But I shall not let you lay a hand on the sacred blade. The Mani Katti is under divine protection—”

             “I said shut your mouth fool!” the man yells. “Or I shall strike you down with the very sword you risk your life to protect!”

             “What you suggest would be nothing short of sacrilege.” the priest replies, still not raising his voice. “This is a holy blade; senseless violence is not befitting— _ooph!”_

The priest crumbles to the ground as the gruff man strikes him with the pommel of his sword. “Sacrilege you say? My name is Glass! The gods already fear my name! My swordsmanship is nothing short of legendary!” he brags. He approaches the altar and gazes at Sacae’s sacred blade—the Mani Katti. “Such a beautiful blade,” he remarks, as if mesmerized. “It’s even more magnificent than I imagined…with my skills and this ancient blade, I shall be unstoppable!!”

             With a flourish, he grips the hilt of the sword and pulls, but the sword does not budge. He jerks the hilt of the sword harder, but the scabbard holds fast to the blade, which suddenly grows hot in his hands. He yelps in agony, and drops the blade, which falls to the ground with a soft clatter.

             “The spirits of the blade have judged you…” the priest says wearily, slowly hoisting himself upright. “You take without giving, and desire only for yourself. The blade has rejected you—you are unworthy to handle it.”

             “Shut up you senile old fool!!” Glass shouts, pointing his blade at the priest’s throat. “Unless you have no value for what little life you have left, I suggest you remain silent and _get out of my sight!!”_

             “Lower your weapon and leave him be!” a voice shouts from the entrance. Glass turns to see a woman and a cloaked figure standing in the arched entryway of the shrine, swords drawn. He then hears the sound of shifting stones, and turns back just in time to see the priest escape through a concealed passage behind the wall near the altar, the sacred blade clutched in his hands.

             “Damn, miserable spirits!” he shouts, swiping his sword at the now barren stone wall near where the priest escaped. “I should tear this altar down stone by miserable stone!!”

             “Have you no honor, attacking a holy man in a sacred shrine!?” Lyn calls towards the man. “You look to be a man of Sacae, yet your actions suggest otherwise!” she growls.

             Glass scoffs, and turns to face her. “To hell with _honor_ and _tradition,”_ he spits, “Who do you think you are, to threaten the legendary Glass in such a way?? What chance could you possibly think you have against me with swords like those?? My skills are befitting of the gods themselves, and I shall have the Mani Katti to prove it!!”

             Lyn glares at the man as his words echo throughout the stone walls of the shrine. A sly smile begins to creep across her face, and she lowers her sword.

             “You said yourself that your skills with a sword are befitting of the gods, no?” she begins, eliciting a curious look from the man. “Perhaps you would be so generous as to give me a display of such legendary swordsmanship?” she asks.

             Mark looks at Lyn in confused horror as the gruff man considers Lyn’s request.

             “Surely you’re not challenging the legendary Glass to a _duel,_ are you?” the man laughs.

             “You catch on quickly,” Lyn replies. “Should you lose, you and what remains of your band of ruffians are to evacuate these sacred grounds and never return.”

             “And when I win?…”

             “Then we will have no choice but to give in to your demands…”

             “Lyn, you can’t be serious—!” Mark begins

             “Very well, girl!” Glass announces after a moment of thought, cutting Mark’s pleas off. “I accept your challenge! But be warned, you have just sentenced yourself to a sorry fate!”

             “We’ll see about that…” Lyn says. “Tell your men to cease their fighting, and I shall do the same,” she says.

             “But, Lyn—!” Mark continues to protest.

             “It’s too late Mark, go tell the knights outside to cease their fighting,” she says, cutting them off again. “Tell them I have this under control.”

* * *

             Lyn stands several feet away from her opponent, her eyes glued to him intently. She takes several deep breaths, while her hand rests patiently on the hilt of her sword. Her heart beats steadily in her chest, and the weight of her feet presses against the soft grass below her.

             Her companions stand a ways behind her. Kent leans awkwardly on his lance with Sain pacing impatiently in front of him. Mark, kneels down, their knees shaking too violently to stand. The horses all beat their hooves and whinny nervously as tension hangs thick in the air.

             Glass points his sword in Lyn’s direction, who nods in return, drawing her own blade.

             “Any last words, girl?” he asks.

             “I’ll let my sword speak for me,” she responds curtly.

             “Hmph, very well. Let’s get this over with.”

             Lyn holds her blade in front of her, sizing up her opponent. Her eyes scan from his blade—gripped tightly in both hands in front of him, to his stance—which is awkwardly askew. She slowly inches towards him, waiting for the first sign of movement, keeping her own blade between herself and her foe.

             She watches as his back leg tenses, and he springs forward, his heavy blade hoisted overhead. In one fluid motion, she brings her blade up to deflect his, feeling it glance harmlessly off of her own, and steps to the side, out of his reach.

             She catches a glimpse of a frustrated scowl flash across his face, and he makes another lunge for her, swiping his blade in a horizontal fashion. This time she forgoes a parry altogether, simply hopping backwards out of his reach again.

             She continues to dance around her foe, almost effortlessly. For each cut he makes at her, she deflects it, and sidesteps away. His attacks grow more reckless, finding his blade farther and farther from his mark each time.

             Another overhead swipe falls down from overhead, and again Lyn sidesteps out of the way. This time, instead of stepping back again, she steps inward, and thrusts her sword towards her opponent. He stumbles backwards as her sword just nicks his arm, leaving a thin trail of blood trickling down his sleeve.

             Again, she steps forward, making another slice, which he can only barely stagger away from in time again. With a third step forward, she finds herself mere feet away from the cocky swordsman, and shoves him back with her shoulder. He trips over his own feet and crashes to the ground, sword still clutched in one hand.

             In a final desperate attempt, he tries to swipe low at her legs. His blade connects with air again as Lyn brings her foot down sharply on the flat side of his sword blade, knocking it from his grip, and pinning it to the ground. She stands over him, her figure a mere silhouette as the afternoon sun shines down from behind her. She points her blade at his throat and waits a moment in silence.

             “Admit that you have been bested, and I have no need to kill you,” she tells him through gritted teeth.

             The man grumbles in frustration, and then winces as the point of Lyn’s blade presses against his throat. “ _Okay,_ okay…” he whines, “you win…”

             With a smug look, Lyn takes a step back, sheathing her blade. “Kent, Sain!” she calls, not daring to look away from her foe, “see to it that Glass and his men honor their end of the bargain!”

             “At once milady,” they reply hastily, approaching Lyn and the downed brigand, and guiding the latter away.

             “And Mark, will you come with me to check on the priest of the shrine?” she asks, walking back towards the entrance.

             “Of course!” they reply, hurrying alongside Lyn.

* * *

             Their footsteps echo softly in the stone-walled shrine as Lyn and Mark approach the wall near the altar. “Sir, are you there?” Lyn calls out to the empty room, “we have driven the ruffians away from this shrine!”

             The two are met with silence for a moment, and then a part of the wall shifts aside, revealing the priest, with the sacred sword still clutched gingerly in his wrinkled hands.

             “By the heavens, I thank you,” the priest says to Lyn as he walks out. He stops in front of her, eyeing her robes intently. “Those patterns,” he says, his sunken eyes taking in every detail of the ornate embroidery adorning Lyn’s clothing, “you are from the Lorca, no?”

             “I…yes, I am,” she replies after a short pause. “I am Lyndis, daughter of Chieftan Hassar,” she adds softly.

             “Thanks to you, daughter of Hassar, I am unscathed,” the priest says, bowing deeply. “You have my sincerest gratitude.”

             “What of the Mani Katti, sir?” Lyn asks, “is it safe?”

             “It is,” he replies, straightening and holding the blade out for her and Mark to see. “The ancient magics that bind this blade made sure of that!” he adds with a chuckle.

             “Magic?” Mark asks

             “I take it the rest of you aren’t familiar with the legend then?” he asks, nodding towards Mark and the two knights, who have since joined the conversation.

             The three shake their heads no, affirming the priest’s suspicions.

             “Well, I’m sure the daughter of Hassar would know the legend, no?” he asks, this time looking to Lyn.

             “He told me many times when I was a girl,” she replies, “it was one of my favorites.”

             “Would you tell it to us, Lyn?” Marks asks.

             “Very well,” she says, “I’ll see if I can remember how it goes…”

* * *

 

> _Long ago, when the world was still young, there were two wolf brothers: Full Moon and Rising Sun. They were each born of a single ray of light from Father Sky, and they ran across the great plains bringing day and night to the land._
> 
> _The older brother, Rising Sun, did not care to share the plains with his brother. Some say that Rising Sun asked a demon from beyond the Shadows to kill his brother, others say he did the deed himself. Regardless, Full Moon was eaten alive, leaving behind only a single silver fang as his soul ascended to the heavens._
> 
> _The death of his son made Father Sky very angry. He erected a grave in honor of his son, marking it with the lone silver fang, before setting out to punish his older son for his misdeed. As punishment, he ripped a golden fang from Rising Sun’s mouth before banishing him to the heavens and forcing him to run forever across the heavens to atone for his sins._
> 
> _To this day, Rising Sun still runs back and forth across the heavens in atonement, while Full Moon’s soul rests in the sky above us, guiding and watching over the departed souls who come to rest with him in the heavens. They hide in fear whenever Rising Sun runs past, and come out to watch down on us after he leaves and the sky turns dark._

* * *

“This shrine here is said to be Full Moon’s grave,” Lyn continues explianing, “and the sword that rests here is the Mani Katti, or ‘moon fang’, and is the silver fang that was left behind. As you may have guessed, this sword has a twin, known as the Sol Katti, or ‘sun fang’, which was the golden fang that was ripped from Rising Sun before he was banished. It is said,” she continues, “that the Sol Katti was sealed away somewhere far away, and that someday, a warrior of great skill will wield both blades alongside one another ‘when day and night unite to fight against an ancient evil’.”

             “Well well, I see your father taught you well,” the priest says to Lyn, who blushes slightly. “Yes, it is said this blade contains the blessing of the moon, and will guide travelers safely to their destination, just as Full Moon guides departed souls to the heavens.”

             “Amazing,” Mark whispers.

             “And as a token of my gratitude, please, receive the swords blessings for your long journey ahead,” the priest offers, holding the blade in outstretched arms.

             The three others look to Lyn, who steps forward and places two hands upon the blade. She closes her eyes and bows her head slightly, mouthing a prayer.

             Suddenly, her eyes snap open, as the blade begins to glow warmly in her hands. “What the—?” she exclaims, quickly drawing her hands away.

             “Father Sky and Mother Earth!” the priest exclaims, his gaze quickly jumping back and forth between Lyn and the glowing sword. “Lyn, daughter of Hassar, the spirits of the blade have looked within you, and now they call to you!”

             “But-…What does that mean?” she asks, a note of panic in her voice.

             “I believe…It means that you are the rightful owner of the Mani Katti, Lyn,” the priest says. “The sword has chosen _you_ to wield it.”

             “N-no…” she stammers, “I mean-…I couldn’t possibly…”

             “The sword has made its wishes clear,” the priest continues, “and should you require any further proof, you need only try to draw the blade from its scabbard.”

             He thrusts the blade towards Lyn, who reluctantly accepts it. Her hands shake violently as she grips the swords hilt. She pauses, looking to each of her companions in turn, before closing her eyes tightly and pulling.

             “It…it came out effortlessly,” she whispers softly as she reopens her eyes, her mouth agape in awe. She and the others gaze at the elegantly slender blade faintly glowing in Lyn’s hand.

             “Blessed be the plains—I never dared to hope I might meet the wielder of the Mani Katti in my life,” the priest says softly. “Lyn of the Lorca, I am proud to have been the one to deliver your sword to you.”

             “M-my sword?…” she asks, still dumbstruck by the faintly glowing blade in her hand.

“Come Lyn and company, it is time for you to go,” the priest says, ushering them towards the entrance of the shrine. “A great many ordeals will stand in between you and your destiny. Grip this blade and meet them head-on, and you shall find that which you seek.”

             He bows one last time, before closing the doors to the shrine, leaving Lyn and her friends to stand in stunned silence outside the shrine.

             “So this is the Mani Katti,” Sain says, finally breaking the silence. “A blade with but one equal…”

             “I…” Lyn continues to stammer, “This…it’s so unbelievable! One of the most famous blades in all of Sacae…in my very hands…”

             “Is it so unbelievable though?” Kent asks. “After all, plenty of legends tell similar tales of special blades who call out to and choose their owners.”

             “But…why me?” she pleads.

             “I can’t say why Lyn, but…” Mark pauses, “I…felt something when I saw you draw that blade. It was an extraordinary feeling, seeing you hold that sword. I could feel that you were meant to hold it.”

             “I’m nothing special though…” she whines. “I don’t deserve such a sword…”

             “Then think of it this way,” Sain chimes in, “some weapons feel more comfortable in your hands than others, no? To the Mani Katti, you feel more comfortable as a wielder. Does that make it any easier to accept?”

             “I…I suppose it does feel right in my hand,” she stammers.

             “Any anyway,” Mark adds, “it doesn’t seem like anyone else has been able to wield it.”

             “A blade that only I can wield…” she whispers to herself. _“A blade that feels comfortable with me, just as I feel comfortable with it…”_

             “I suppose it does make sense,” she says aloud, holding the sword in front of her, admiring the intricate patterns carved along the side of the blade, glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. “Very well, if this is indeed my sword, then I shall care for it well.”

             “That’s the spirit milady!” Kent says.

             “I’m sure you will,” Mark adds.

             “Well then,” Sain chimes in, “it looks to be getting late, don’t you think? Perhaps we should call it a day and begin our journey anew tomorrow?”

             “I think that sounds like a lovely idea,” Lyn replies. “Truth be told…I’m already eager for an opportunity to practice with my new sword. What say you we finally start your sword training tonight Mark?” she asks with a smile.

             “Sounds like a plan to me!” Mark replies happily.

* * *

             Lyn wipes the sweat from her brow and lowers her sword. “I think that’s enough for today Mark. If you practice those drills every evening for the next week, then we’ll move on to some more material for you.”

             “Sounds like a plan!” they reply, plopping down on the soft grass.

             “And make sure to watch your footwork,” she adds with a friendly laugh.

             “Mhm,” they nod, closing their eyes and leaning back in the warm evening breeze. “It’s a beautiful evening tonight.”

             “Yes, yes it is,” Lyn answers, gazing across the moonlit plains.

             The two remain silent for a while, as the sounds of the evening echo throughout the darkened sky. Lyn takes a seat across from Mark, resting her sword in the grass, and hugging her knees to her chest.

             Mark sits up, looking at Lyn. “Something on your mind?” they ask.

             “Ah, I’m just still surprised about the Mani Katti,” she says flatly, glancing towards the blade, which has ceased glowing.

             “You wield it beautifully,” Mark replies, “watching you fight with it is like watching an intricate dance.”

             “Mmm.”

             Another silence hangs in the air as Mark shifts and props themselves on their elbow. “Are you sure there’s nothing else bothering you Lyn?”

             Lyn opens her mouth, but pauses without speaking. She then lets out a labored sigh, looking off to the side blankly. “This will be my first time leaving the plains…” she says, “I’m excited and nervous all at once; but mostly? I’m terrified…”

             “Of anything in particular?”

             “Everything’s just changed so fast. I thought I had lost my family, and now I’m thrust into a family feud as heir to a throne I have no desire for!?...” she says, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “I’m just not sure what I should do…and I’m scared that I won’t make the right decision when the time comes…”

             “Well, you certainly have had quite the eventful past few days,” Mark chuckles, “making friends with a strange amnesiac, discovering long-lost family, inheriting a legendary sword…I’m sure it’s enough for anyone to need to take a moment to process.”

             “I suppose…” she sighs again. “But, what if they don’t like me? What will I do if I disappoint my new family? What if I’m not good enough for them?…” her voice quavers slightly as she speaks.

             “Having never met them, I can say nothing for sure…” Mark answers when Lyn grows quiet again, “but the way the knights told, it sounded like nothing would make your grandfather happier than to meet his long-lost granddaughter. I don’t think you have much reason to worry.”

             “I suppose…I do wonder what my grandfather is like. Mother never told me much about her old family, and she would always turn sullen whenever I asked. I guess I never gave it much thought, since we were all so happy together anyway…” Lyn trails off, wiping a tear from her eye.

             “The way you talk about them, it must have been wonderful,” Mark says, “I wish I could have met them.”

             “Oh, Mark,” Lyn starts, “I’m sorry, look at me complaining without thinking of you…it must feel awful to hear me talk about my family when you can’t even remember yours…”

             “There’s no need to apologize,” they reply, “I’m sure I’ll work it out somehow.”

             “But—!”

             “Seriously, Lyn, it’s alright. You take the time you need to grieve for them; it really doesn’t bother me,” they say, attempting to catch Lyn’s gaze.

             Lyn looks away to the floor, not answering. Another stray tear makes its way down her cheek, glistening softly in the moonlight.

             “For now, though,” Mark says, getting to their feet, “I think it would be wise to wash up and get some sleep before it gets too late. I’m sure we’ll have a long day ahead of us tomorrow” They extend a hand towards Lyn and wait expectantly.

             Lyn hesitates a moment before looking up at Mark. She nods, accepting their hand and pulling herself to her feet. The two walk in silence down to a nearby stream, and take turns rinsing off, before heading back to camp to change into fresh nightclothes.

             As Mark lies down to go to sleep, the flap of their tent ruffles slightly, as Lyn slowly opens it and steps inside.

             “Um,” she starts, barely whispering, “this is perhaps too bold of a request, but…” she trails off.

             “I’m listening.”

             “Could I…maybe sleep…with you again, tonight…” she asks, fidgeting in the pitch dark of the tent.

             “Sure.”

             Lyn slowly shuffles over to Mark’s side and lies down beside them. She then abruptly wraps her arms around them, burying her face in their chest and holding them tight.

             Mark hugs Lyn tight, and places the softest kiss on top of her head. They hold her close until her body eventually falls limp, and her breathing becomes calm. She smells faintly of fresh morning dew, and her breath is warm against Mark’s chest. Mark finally closes their eyes and relaxes, falling into a deep and peaceful slumber.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left encouraging feedback on the last chapter--your kind words gave me the boost of confidence I needed to finally finish this chapter!! As I write this, I'm currently on a flight back to school, and likely won't get much chance to write as I settle back into routine. However, as I stated last time, there's a good chance that being back in a steady routine, and living not at home may actually do positive things for my mental health, and allow me to write more frequently than before.
> 
> That all being said, this chapter was really fun to write for many reasons!! For starters, I love doing world-building, and getting to invent/incorporate some more Sacaean mythology into the narrative was a lot of fun. Writing a duel scene for Lyn where she finally gets to show off her true skills and decimate a cocky foe was also really satisfying. And finally, Lyn/Mark|Tactician fluff (or just fluff in general) is always enjoyable to write (and I've been waiting for the right time to start incorporating more relationship interaction now that we're starting to have multiple characters). What will become of Lyn and Mark's closeness in the future? Who knows! But Florina joins us next chapter, and that will certainly complicate things as well, so stay tuned!!
> 
> Once again, comments and feedback are always appreciated!! Enjoy!


	7. Chapter 3: Band of Mercenaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyn reunites with an old friend, and the group adds another member to their numbers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow this has taken me a while to write!! I hope y'all haven't minded such a long delay. On the bright side, I've had chapter 4 written since before I even started this project officially, so that one should (hopefully) be up soon, to compensate for such a long break between chapters!!
> 
> In other news, my favorite girls are back together again!! I tried to slip as much fluff as I could into this chapter because of that, and will probably continue to do so because Lyn and Flor are just too damn adorable not to. And as for how this may impact Lyn and Mark's relationship?...Stay tuned to find out!!
> 
> Also, since I'm now a month and a half into my senior year of undergrad, my scheduling may unfortunately just have to be this infrequent for a while. I thus thank you all for being patient with me while I take forever to write these chapters, and I hope that you continue to enjoy reading this project as I do writing it!!
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are very much appreciated, and I hope you all enjoy!!!

* * *

_Chapter 3: Band of Mercenaries_

             Three horses slowly climb their way up the rocky mountain trail. Aside from the gravel crunching beneath their hooves, a heavy silence fills the air as four riders push forward on perilous roads. A light mountain breeze cuts through the heat of the beating sun overhead, but otherwise the atmosphere remains still.

             “Still no bandits in sight!” the rider in front calls back to his companions, his green armour shining dully in the midday sun. “Perhaps my majestic presence was enough to scare them away entirely!”

             The remaining riders groan and roll their eyes. “He really is always like this, isn’t he?” Mark asks to Kent, who brings up the rear of the travelling party.

             “Since the day we met,” Kent sighs, “He’s gallant as they come, and fiercely loyal, but if his carelessness doesn’t get him killed in battle, that loose tongue of his will…”

             As the four press onward, they reach the plateau of their incline, and a small village comes into view across the way. ‘Village’, however, is a loose word—wind rustles hollowly through the ruined buildings, scattering ash and bits of tanned hide about. Though the wooden walls stand tall around them, remnants of huts lie in crumpled piles, and the surrounding vegetation rustles dry and sickly in the mountain breeze. Not a soul walks among the wreckage, and a heavy feeling hangs in the air.

             “Gods…” Kent utters, staring at the wreckage in horror.

             “This entire village is in ruins!” Sain says. “But…why? Surely this territory’s Marquess could have done something to prevent this?”

             “This is the Taliver Mountain range, Sain,” Lyn says through gritted teeth, her hands clenching Makar’s reins tightly, “no Marquess holds any power here. The Taliver bandits control these mountains, and their ruthlessness and viciousness knows no end. They are soulless monsters…and I will never forgive them for what they did…”

             “What they did…?” Sain asks, raising an eyebrow.

             “My people, they were…it was the Taliver bandits,” Lyn starts, fighting back tears. “A single night was all it took—by morning, the entire tribe was slaughtered. I…I know not if there were any survivors other than myself. If there were, I never saw them…”

             “I’m…so sorry, milday,” Kent says, lowering his head.

             “Next time, I won’t run,” Lyn scowls suddenly. “I’ll come back when I’m stronger…I’ll break their weapons beneath my boots like twigs beneath a stallion’s hooves, and watch as the life leaves their eyes! I will do _everything_ in my power to show them the suffering I endured because of them!!…”

             Lyn’s last cry devolves into choking sobs, and Mark places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She leans into their comforting touch, burying her face in her hands. The knights, meanwhile, sit in silence until she regains her composure, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robes.

             “Milady Lyndis,” Sain starts, “when that time comes…please, take me with you.”

             “Sain?” she whispers, her voice cracking slightly.

             “Don’t forget me either,” Kent adds, “I should like to be there with you to support you.”

             “Kent, you too?”

             “Me too Lyn,” Mark adds, squeezing her shoulder softly, “I may not be much with a sword yet, but I’ll grow stronger with you. We’re all here because of you, after all.”

             “I…you all…” Lyn sniffles. “Thank you, all of you.”

             A high-pitched whinny and a gruff cry cuts their tender moment short. The four riders reach for their weapons and look around in panic.

             “There!” Sain calls, pointing in the direction of the ruined village, “It looks like there’s a commotion in the ruins.”

             Another cry comes from the ruins again, this one a high-pitched scream. From behind one of the smaller houses, large white wings flap vigorously in distress.

             “That’s—that’s a pegasus!” Lyn cries. “Gods, it couldn’t be…? Florina!?”

             “Come on!” Sain calls, brandishing his lance and turning towards the ruins, “we must hurry!” With a kick of his heels, he and his horse speed off towards the commotion, the others close behind.

* * *

             “Wait right there you little bitch!” A sorely irate man dressed in rags and smelling strongly of booze hoists himself off the ground. “How do you plan on apologizing for what you’ve done? Hm!?”

             “Uh—I!…” a girl with short, lilac curls, and dressed in crisp, light armour stammers and cowers away from the shouting man. She looks from him, to his partner, equally unkempt, and back to him, her breaths coming in short gasps all the while. “That is—I mean!…”

             “She sure is quite the catch, eh?” the irate man’s partner remarks, leering at the frightened girl. “I bet she’d fetch a pretty penny with the boss…”

             “She’d better!” the first man scowls, dusting his grimy clothes off and picking up his dropped axe. “After roughing me up like that, it’s more’n she even deserves…”

             “I…I…!” the girl continues to stammer, her knees shaking violently.

             “What’re we gonna do with her flying mule?” the second man asks, looking over the girl’s shoulder at the panicked pegasi.

             “NO!” the girl screams suddenly, causing the two brigands to eye her in contempt, “Don’t you touch her!!”

             “You watch your mouth, you slut!” the irate man’s lackey barks back at her.

             “No, please!” she begs, tears streaming down her face, “you-, you can do whatever you want with me! Just…just please—let her go!”

             “You stupid twit,” the irate man spits, a crooked grin plastered on his face, “Pegasi are only found in Ilia. They’re worth more than you are by far! We’d be letting a mountain of gold fly away! No, we’re gonna sell it to the highest bidder, just like you!”

             “No!…you can’t…” the girl continues to sob, falling to her knees.

             “Now hurry up’n move it!” he barks again, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her to her feet. “And no dawdl—”

             _“Florina!?”_

The irate man’s head whirls around as a group of riders gallop towards them, weapons brandished.

             “Lyn!?” Florina calls back, twisting her arm to break free of the irate man’s grip and running towards her saviours.

             “Florina!” Lyn shouts again, riding up alongside her friend and sliding effortlessly off her horse, embracing her tight in her arms. “Whatever are you doing in a place like this??”

             “Lyn! It’s…it’s really you!” She breaks down into another fit of sobs, burying her face in Lyn’s shoulder.

             “Come now, there’s no need for crying,” Lyn says, stroking Florina’s curls gently as her sobs gradually fade to hiccups.

             “I…I’m sorry,” she eventually mutters.

             “I take it you two know each other?” Kent asks.

             “This is Florina, a dear friend of mine from Ilia. She’s a pegasus knight in training,” Lyn says to the others before turning back to Florina and cupping her cheek gently with her hand. “Now, Florina, pray tell, what happened here?” she starts, glaring at the irate men ahead of them.

             “Well…” Florina begins, wringing her hands and looking at the ground, “I…I’ve been trying to catch up to you ever since you left…I saw this village, and-, and I thought I’d fly down to ask if they had any news of you…I, uhm-” her voice becomes quiet, “I didn’t exactly see these two below me…and, well…”

             “So you trampled them by accident?” Sain asks.

             “Well…yeah…a little…” she admits with a sniffle.

             _“HA!”_ the irate man yells, drawing the attention of Lyn’s companions. “You heard the wench, she admits it! She stepped on me, and now we’re gonna make her pay!”

             “Florina, did you apologize to them?” Lyn asks, continuing to glare at the brigands.

             “Yes, of course! I said I was sorry so many times over, but…they didn’t listen…” she whimpers.

             “Don’t cry, it’s going to be alright,” Lyn says, placing her hand on Florina’s shoulder and looking once again towards the bandits. “Now listen here you two. This was obviously an accident, and she’s apologized. Can’t we just let this all pass? You don’t appear to be hurt that bad—”

             “Not a chance!” the first man yells, “she’s wounded my pride, and that hurts most of all!” He suddenly lets out a whistle, and more bandits begin to appear behind him, weapons brandished menacingly. “Come on boys, the girl and her flying horse are coming with us—even if we have to force ‘em!”

             Lyn and her companions draw their weapons as the bandits begin to encircle them.

             “Can you fight, Florina?” Lyn asks.

             She shakes her head vigorously back and forth, her lilac curls bouncing every which way. “I dropped my lance in the confusion! I’m not sure where it went…”

             “Well, then stay back for now, they’ll take care of these bandits,” Lyn tells her, nodding towards Mark and the knights. “Come, we’ll hide in one of the ruined huts, and I’ll make sure none of them harm you!”

             “Ah-okay!!” she stammers as Lyn takes her by the hand and drags her off towards a nearby hut.

* * *

             “Leave us alone you thugs!!” a woman yells as Lyn and Florina stand frozen in the open doorway.

             “Yeah, go away! We have no more gold for you anyway! Leave us be!” a man yells in agreement.

             “Wait, please—” Lyn starts, “we’re not bandits! We’re here to help, I promise.”

             “Yeah right…” another woman says, rolling her eyes. “Please, like we’d fall for that ruse again…”

             “I’m serious! Please, listen…” Lyn continues to protest.

             “Everyone, you stay in here,” a young man says, slinging his bow off his shoulder. “I’ll go talk with them.”

             The man walks towards the entrance, casually nocking an arrow, and motions Lyn and Florina to step outside. Once outside, Florina whimpers and hides behind Lyn, who calmly stands her ground.

             “Alright then,” the young man begins, “If you aren’t bandits, then who are you?”

             “My name is Lyn. My colleagues and I were just traveling through here. We didn’t expect to run into bandits, but we’re dealing with them as we speak.”

             “I see…” the young man says, running a hand through his slicked-back, red hair.

             “My companion here can’t fight, and she needs a place to hide. We didn’t expect there would be other villagers here. But they seem to be in good hands with you—” Lyn begins to turn away, taking Florina by the hand.

             “Wait!” the man calls, causing Lyn to stop and turn. “Perhaps you’d allow me to fight alongside you, then? These villagers have been kind to me, and I feel that I owe them this at the very least.”

             “Are you sure you shouldn’t stay back with them?” Lyn asks.

             “This isn’t their first bandit raid, they know how to deal with them by now,” Wil says with a chuckle. “Besides,” he continues, his face becoming serious, “I’m not sure I trust the two of you yet. If the two of you wish to help us as you say, then I can’t imagine you’d turn down some extra help. And if you are putting up a ruse for us…well, let’s just say people are much larger, slower targets than rabbits.”

             “We’d be more than grateful for your help, Wil,” Lyn says, bowing slightly. “Welcome aboard!”

             Wil nods, bowing in return. “Come with me,” he says, beckoning the two ladies towards him, “I know of higher ground we can get to where I can pick them off more easily!”

             “Uhm…” Florina hesitates, still hiding behind Lyn.

             “Hm, this is the companion you speak of, yes?” Wil asks, looking back. “Is she unwell?”

             “I’m sorry,” Lyn replies, stepping aside to reveal Florina. “This is my friend, Florina. She’s timid around men, and, well…you’ve got a bow.”

             “Ah, my apologies!” Wil says. “You must be a pegasus knight then?”

             Florina offers a stiff, rapid nod, as she remains frozen in place.

             “I do understand your fear of bows you know-…” Wil begins.

             Florina squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head from side to side in protest. “I-…you don’t understand…” she stammers. “Even just… _looking_ …at a bow-…it frightens me ever so much!!”

             “I see,” Wil says, finally slinging the bow across his shoulders. “But you know, it’s the enemy archers you should be afraid of, not the ones fighting for you.”

             “I-…I know…” she responds meekly.

             “Come on!” Lyn says, grabbing Florina by the hand and eliciting a frightened cry, “Enough  
talk—lead the way Wil, we’ll watch your back from that higher ground you mentioned.”

             Wil nods and takes off, darting over fallen huts, the two girls following closely behind him.

* * *

             “Where the _hell’s_ that girl!?” Migal roars, “how did she escape from right under my nose!?”

             He backs away from the crowd of his brethren with a huff and begins scouring the rest of the ruined village. His eyes fall upon a flash of scarlet from above—an archer is crawling along the walls of the encampment, stopping occasionally to snipe Migal’s men from above.

             Migal watches the archer stop, scout the area, and then carefully nock an arrow and line up his shot. The arrow spends but a moment in his bow before flying, and the cry that sounds after signals that it has met its mark. Migal scowls as the archer continues his antics for another few shots, until an idea runs through his head.

             Pulling a small throwing hatchet from his belt, Migal watches the crafty archer crawl around the rafters for another round. As he stops to line up his shot, Migal begins to do the same. He heaves his arm back and—

             _“Wait, Will!! Behind you!!!”_

As Migal throws his hatchet, the archer’s head whips around to see him, and he loosens his grip on the wall. He tumbles to the ground unceremoniously just as the hatchet embeds itself in the wood where he once hung.

             As Wil scrambles to his feet and reaches for an arrow however, he grasps at air—not a single arrow remains in his quiver. But as the bandit leader approaches, the timid girl with lilac hair suddenly appears, and stands between Wil and his assailant.

             “NO!” Florina cries, squeezing her eyes shut and holding her arms out on either side of her, shielding Wil with her petite body. Migal stops short, his axe still brandished over his head for an attack, and glares at her.

             “Well well, it’s you! Changed yer mind about coming with us then, eh?”

             “Well-…no.” Florina pauses, trembling as she speaks, “But…this really is…this really is my fault! So, can we…can we please…”

             “Spit it out already!” Migal growls, “I don’t got all day!”

             “I’m sorry,” Florina whimpers, “Can we…can we just stop fighting now!?”

             Migal lets the head of his axe drop to the ground and rolls his eyes in exasperation. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding…after I’ve been made to look like a fool like this? To hell with your stinkin’ apologies!!”

             Florina hides her face with her arms and lets out a cry. But the blow she expects never comes, and when she finally lowers her arms and opens her eyes she sees the familiar sky-blue of Lyn’s robes dancing around the large bandit leader.

             “Hold your weapon!” Lyn yells, as a swing of Migal’s axe misses her by a wide margin. “There’s something I would ask of you!”

             “Begging for your life so soon, wench?” Migal laughs.

             “Are you and your men…are you Taliver bandits?”

             Migal’s face screws up sour, and he spits as if to rid himself of the bad taste Lyn’s words left in his mouth. “Taliver you ask? Those greedy bastards…how dare you compare us to _them_!” He punctuates his yelling with another swing of his axe, which Lyn nimbly dodges again. “We’re the Ganelon bandits, and we know a thing or two of honor! We don’t slaughter women or children for one…it’s such a waste to kill what can be sold,” he laughs.

             Lyn sheathes her sword as she dodges out of Migal’s range. “If you’re not Taliver, I have no reason to kill you today!” she calls. “If you would tuck your tails and flee now, we would spare your lives!”

             Migal grunts, brandishing his axe. “You watch your tongue and draw your sword! I’ve had enough of these trite courtesies!”

             And with that, he charges at Lyn, who still stands with her sword sheathed. As he comes within striking distance, however, a sharp pain pierces his leg and he tumbles over into the dirt. Another arrow pierces his shoulder, and pins him to the ground below.

             “Admit it,” Lyn says as she stands over him, smirking. “You’ve been beat. There’s no need for any more of your brethren to die today. Call off the attack, and we’ll go our separate ways.”

             Migal doesn’t speak, he only gasps at the pain throbbing in his limbs. He, Lyn, Florina, and Wil listen as the sounds of the skirmish echo eerily within the high, wooden walls of the once-village. Finally, he lets out two pained whistles, and within minutes the sounds of battle are replaced by the sounds of retreating bandits. Migal yanks the arrow pinning him to the grown with a meaty hand, grimacing at the pain as it leaves his shoulder, and scowls as he claws himself to a standing position.

             “Don’t think y’all have won!” he scowls, scooping up his axe as his limp arm hangs at his side. “You’ll live to regret this decision!! My brothers, the Ganelon bandits, won’t let this stand!”

             And with that, Migal half runs, half limps away to rejoin with his soldiers to fight another day.

* * *

             Lyn sits cross-legged in one of the still standing huts as the villagers go about their business in the wake of the thwarted bandit attack. She wraps her arm around Florina, who sits with her head resting against Lyn’s shoulder, as the two discuss their reunion.   

             “Florina, whyever _did_ you follow me? It’s so dangerous around these parts…”

             Florina sighs, lifting her head from Lyn’s shoulder where she once rested, and turns towards her friend. “Do you remember the knighting ceremony of the Pegasus Knights of Ilia, Lyn?”

             “Of course I do! Does that mean…?”

             Florina nods, wringing her hands as she sits cross-legged. “I wanted to come see you before I set out. But then when I got to Sacae, well…I heard that you had left…”

             Lyn scoots over to Florina, wrapping an arm around her again. “You were worried for me, weren’t you?”

             Florina nods again silently, resting her head on Lyn’s shoulder once more.

             “Well,” Lyn continues, running a hand through Florina’s soft curls, “I appreciate your concern, but I’m much more worried for you! Being part of a mercenary group, fighting and living with all sorts of men…it just doesn’t seem like a place suited for you.”

             Florina sniffs, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I know, I know. It’s just…you know this has always been my dream, Lyn! I wanted to fly alongside my sisters and show them how strong I could be…you said so yourself that if I believed in myself I could do it…” Florina trails off as she sits up and looks away from Lyn, “I guess I just imagined if I worked hard enough things would just…work out, somehow, you know? But after today…maybe you are right Lyn. Maybe…maybe I should just give up…”

             “I…Florina, I’m sorry…please, you’re right, you shouldn’t give up on your dream…”

             As she says this, the knights, joined by Wil, throw open the door to the hut, and step inside.

             “What’s this I hear about giving up?” Sain asks, cupping his hand behind his ear as if to exaggerate listening.

             Florina jumps, then freezes as the unfamiliar men approach her and sit down and join the conversation.

             “I don’t know about you, Kent, but I think this lass just needs some motivating spirit, wouldn’t you say?”

             “Knock it off Sain,” Kent mutters, giving his friend a push.

             “Lovely Florina!” Sain continues, ignoring his friend’s protesting, “I have the most brilliant idea! Rather than giving up on your dream, why don’t you come with us! Why, with the six of us here, we’re a fine group of soldiers, and we’d be freelance to boot!”

             Wil spends a second counting. “Wait a minute…does that include me here?”

             “Of course! I know we were just destined to meet here!”

             “Sain,” Kent starts again, “quit your antics, this is no joking matter!!”

             “I am more serious now that I have ever been my good friend,” Sain says, winking at Kent. “Lyndis’s band of mercenaries is as good a training group as you’ll find anywhere. Perfect for a lovely lass looking to gain some confidence, or a dashing archer such as yourself to pick up some extra gold,” he adds.

             “Lyndis?” Florina asks, furrowing her brow, “Mercenaries? Lyn, what’s going on? Has something happened?”

             “I’ll give you the details later Florina, this is a bit too rushed for me now,” Lyn answers. “However, while I may regret saying this, I do believe Sain is correct. Joining us may be the best for your right now. Will you come with us Florina?”

             “Truly?” Florina asks again, her pale-green eyes suddenly shining with delight, “Travel with you? Oh, Lyn…that would make me very happy!”

             “And you as well Wil,” Lyn says over Florina’s shoulder as the latter embraces her. “you are welcome to travel with us, if you are willing.”

             “Ah, milady,” Wil replies with a stiff, seated bow, “truth be told, I’d be incredibly grateful. All my gold was stolen in the last raid, and I’m…well, let’s say I’m at a bit of a crossroads at the moment.”

             “Sounds like we have some new members in Lyndis’s Legion then,” Mark announces, entering the hut in the midst of conversation. “My name is Mark, a tactician of sorts travelling with Lyn. I’m pleased to have you both aboard Wil, Florina.”

             “Pleased to be of service!” Wil answers with a grin.

             Florina, meanwhile, scoots closer to Lyn and hides her face yet again.

           “You’ll have to forgive her,” Lyn says with an endearing smile, “she is rather uncomfortable around men. Mark isn’t a man though,” Lyn adds, turning to her friend, “They’re _lōdseoni_ _._ ”

             “I’m _what_ now?” Mark asks, feigning offence.

             “I remember!” Florina says, “‘ _lōdseoni_ _’_ means ‘of the horizon’ in the Sacaean tongue, right?”

             “Exactly!” Lyn beams before turning to Mark. “In the Sacaean tongue, a man is _‘lētsaōni’_ , or literally ‘of the wolves’. They come from Father Sky, where the two wolf brothers now dwell-.”

             “Like in the legend of the Mani Katti?”

             “Precisely! A woman then is _‘lōtsabai’_ , meaning ‘of the flowers’ as they come from Mother Earth. And those who are neither a man or a woman are _‘lōdseoni’_ , or ‘of the horizon’ where Father Sky and Mother Earth meet.”

             “I see…” Mark says, lowering their gaze and scratching their head. “I don’t believe the Elimish tongue yet has a word for what I am, I’ve just kind of always been, well, me…”

             “Worry not about it,” Lyn says, smiling at them, “you are special in your own way, regardless of what other’s think of you.”

             “Don’t let Sain hear that philosophy,” Mark adds with a chuckle. “I swear, that man sees pretty faces and nothing more—gender be damned.”

             “Ah, your words, they cut deep into my soul!” Sain cries mockingly, eavesdropping on the conversation, causing more eyes to roll.

             “Well, anyway,” Florina begins again, turning back towards Lyn and Mark, “I’m pleased to meet you, Mark!”

             “And you as well Florina,” they respond with a smile.

             “Milady Lyndis!”

             Lyn swivels around to see her knight companion in red. “Ah, Kent, you startled me.”

             “My apologies milady,” Kent answers, bowing. “I wanted to also offer my apologies on behalf of my companion again, referring to milady and her friends as mercenaries…”

             “No apology needed, Kent,” Lyn answers, “he’s not entirely wrong either, considering what we’ve been up to as of late.”

             Kent nods in affirmation, remaining silent.

             “And I do believe your companion, for all his crassness, is correct; we can’t just leave Florina here on her own. She will require special attention—can I count on you to take care of her?”

             “Of course, milady, you have only but to ask!”

             “Many thanks, Kent,” Lyn answers with a smile and a shake of her head. “Goodness, did Mark refer to us as ‘Lyndis’s Legion’ just a minute ago? Is it just me, or is this journey getting stranger with every day…”

 

            

            

            

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, for those of you who have been asking asking why I have "avoided mentioning Mark's gender thus far" or why I'm "using they and them to refer to Mark after his introduction", I hope the section at the end of this chapter cleared that up for y'all--Mark is explicitly non-binary (like me!!) and I intend to keep it that way!!
> 
> And yes, I did, in fact, create a language for the "Sacaean tongue", and am in the process of doing so for other languages in Elibe. What can I say, I'm a linguist by trade, and using those skills to try and be a less racist/sexist/homophobic/ableist Tolkien...
> 
> Linguistic Notes:  
> -lētsaōni [ˌɾeː.tsɑ.ˈʔoː.ni] | stative verb (Sacaean Creole): lit. "of the wolves", "male"  
> -lōtsabai [ˌɾoː.tsɑ.ˈbɑ.ʔi] | stative verb (Sacaean Creole): lit. "of the flowers", "female"  
> -lōdseoni [ˌɾoː.dze.ˈʔo.ni] | stative verb (Sacaean Creole): lit. "of the horizon", "non-binary"; a term for folk who identify outside the traditional binary of 'male' or 'female'


	8. Chapter 4: In Occupation's Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Migal's threatening words still at the front of her mind, Lyn urges her friends to spend the night away from nearby villages, and the group stumbles upon a distressed stranger as more brigands catch up to enact their revenge...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as I said, here's chapter 4, with only a few minor edits from my first draft of it! I hope you all enjoy today's double feature!! 
> 
> Unfortunately, I will have to say not to get used to it until chapter 10 comes around (which is the other chapter I wrote before starting the project officially :P). So until then!!

* * *

_Chapter 4: In Occupation's Shadow_

             “Are you serious??” Florina squawks in disbelief, “you’re part of a royal family in Caelin??”

             Lyn covers her blushing face with one hand, the other securely locked around Florina’s waist as the two fly above the travelling party down below. While the knights, along with Wil and Mark, ride on the ground, Florina had decided to give Huey a chance to spread her wings.

             “If what the knights say is true, then yes, my mother came from royalty, and her father is the Marquess of Caelin.”

             “Wow…” Florina sighs, tilting her head back against the breeze, and resting it against Lyn’s chest. Lyn plants a soft kiss atop Florina’s head, who giggles in response.

             “Does that mean I can become your knight someday?” she asks, sitting up and turning to face Lyn.

             “My knight?”

             “You know, if you’re going to become Marchioness someday, won’t you have personal retainers and a whole squad of knights to protect your castle?”

             Lyn’s face becomes solemn, and she looks down at Huey’s back, covered in silky, white fur.

             “ _If_ I become Marchioness…” Lyn sighs.

             “Oh, Lyn, I’m sorry…” Florina says, watching Lyn’s expression turn sour. “I didn’t mean to—”

             “No, it’s okay…” Lyn says, shaking her head and forcing a smile. “It’s just been a lot for me to take in is all. And with brigands hot on my tail since I left Bulgar, I haven’t exactly had much time to consider what my future might be like.”

             “Well, whatever you do…” Florina trails off, her face slowly turning red. “Promise you’ll take me with you?”

             “I promise.”

             “Good.” Florina smiles warmly, and turns back facing forward. “Now I think it’s about time we gave Huey a break and found somewhere to rest ourselves, don’t you think?”

             As the two girls touch down ahead of the ground party, Kent and Sain urge their horses forward to catch up with them.

             “Everything alright Milady?” Kent asks in earnest.

             “Everything’s fine,” Lyn replies, “Huey needs a rest, and judging by the sun overhead, it’s about time we found somewhere to camp for the night as well.

             “Ah, but of course!” Sain chimes in, turning towards them, “we must find a village and let these lovely ladies rest Kent! Roland knows such delicate flowers need proper care in order to bloom!”

             Kent rolls his eyes, then turns towards Lyn. “While it pains me to say it, I do agree with my companion. We have spent a long day of riding.”

             “Agreed,” Lyn replies from behind Florina with a nod. “But we won’t be staying at any of the villages” she adds, eliciting a groan of protest from Sain. “You heard what Migal said—his lackeys will likely be after us before long, and we don’t want any innocent villages to be threatened because of us, or worse...” she adds with a pained sigh. She sits in silence a moment, and the others wait patiently for her to continue.

             “Instead,” she finally continues, forcing another smile, “we should search the hills for forts or hideouts. Most of the man-made structures around here ought to be in ruins from the bandits, but that means they’re likely abandoned and farther from the villages.”

             “Ah, such a thoughtful _and_ resourceful woman,” Sain sighs earning himself a glare from both Kent and Mark. He stammers on, “…eh, but still, shouldn’t we really find somewhere more _luxurious_ for you ladies to stay at?” he says as his gaze turns towards Lyn and Florina.

             “As long as I’m with Lyn, I’m fine!” Florina announces meekly.

             “I think Lyn’s right,” Mark chimes in, “we shouldn’t put any villages in unnecessary danger. Besides, if we do get attacked, staging a defense will be a lot harder in an open village full of civilians. Having a tighter area of defense, especially with the high ground of the hills, will be much safer for us all.”

             Lyn nods in agreement, then addresses Sain curtly in return. “There you have it; us ‘delicate ladies’ are fine with these accommodations. Besides, I’d have thought you ‘rugged’ knights were used to such harsh conditions as this?”

             Sain puts his head down meekly in defeat, and so Lyn addresses the others, “You have no qualms with staying somewhere a little less luxurious?”

             “No ma’am!” Wil replies cheerily, and Kent nods in agreement.

             “Then it’s settled,” Lyn states. “Let’s look for somewhere off the beaten path to spend the night.”

* * *

             Shortly after, as dusk begins to creep over the horizon, the six travelers stumble upon an abandoned fort in surprisingly good condition, and agree to set up camp there. Wil slides off of Sain’s horse and stretches, looking around. “Considering what those brigands did to my village, this is more than enough!” he jokes, then winces as he stands straight and adds, “anything to get off these horses for a spell…”

             “Is this really the best we can do?” Sain whines, “This…mildewy old fortress? Surely you all jest at the thought of sleeping here tonight?”

             “As we’ve already agreed Sain,” Mark begins, making no effort to look towards him as they begin unpacking, “this place will be a lot safer than any village, even if we don’t account for the villagers that would be put in danger. We can’t ask that of them when bandits keep them in turmoil enough as it is…”

             “Plus,” Lyn adds, “who wants to be stuck inside a musty old tavern? I much prefer somewhere where I can feel the wind blow through the sky…” She gazes dreamily towards the horizon until Florina clings tight to her arm.

             “Just as long as I can be with Lyn, I don’t mind either,” Florina adds with a confident nod.

             “And anyway,” Kent remarks, looking towards his companion, “neither you nor I will be sleeping much tonight, remember? We are to keep watch in case anyone tries to take us by surprise.”

             “Ah, alas, I…may have forgotten that important detail,” Sain admits sheepishly.

             Suddenly from within the fortress, a soft voice is heard. “Beg your pardon ma’am…” it begins.

             The group quickly reaches for their weapons, squinting into the darkened entryway for the source of the voice. “Who’s there?” Lyn finally calls back, “Show yourself!”

             “Ah, forgive me!” The voice whispers again, and a woman limps out of the doorway. “I’m from a village not far from her—ah!”

             The woman’s leg gives out from under her, and she collapses to the ground. Lyn rushes to help her. “Are you okay?” she asks, “What’s happened to your leg?”

             “Ah, it’s nothing,” the woman replies, “it’s from a childhood sickness. I cannot travel far on it, but it does not pain me.” As Lyn gazes at her with concerned eyes, she continues, “really, I’m quite alright.”

             “In that case, why are you all the way out here, far from the nearest village?”

             “Ah, well…” the woman’s voice becomes softer yet, and she looks away from her saviour. “I’m out here looking for my husband. He told me he was leaving to help earn some money to help with my leg…” her voice trails off.

             “Then why worry?” Lyn asks, “Surely he can take care of himself, and that’s very good of him to help care for you.”

             “Yes, he is a kindhearted man,” the woman smiles, now back on her feet with Lyn’s help. Her smile then falls as she adds, “but I think he may be involved in something dangerous. He is capable, yes, but he’s been gone for far too long, and he’s had me worried sick…”

             She pauses, then looks at the rest of Lyn’s companions. “You all look like travelers,” she remarks, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen him around here? His name is Dorcas. He’s tall and strong, with iron-coloured hair.” The woman produces a sketch and hands it to Lyn. “It’s a poor resemblance, but have you seen someone who looks like this nearby?”

             “I’m terribly sorry” Lyn apologizes. “I can’t say that I have.”

“And the rest of you?” the woman asks hopefully.

             The group cranes their necks to all see the sketch at once, but they all shake their heads disappointingly.

             The woman’s face becomes solemn again. “I see…” she laments. “Well if you do run into him, would you please tell him that Natalie is worried about him?”

             “I promise,” Lyn answers, “you have my word, I swear by—”

             “Milady Lyndis!” Kent interrupts suddenly, looking towards the hills behind them, “it looks as if we have company!”

             As the group turns towards Kent’s gaze, they can make out a rugged travelling party. As they seemingly notice Lyn and her companions, their pace quickens, and they begin making a beeline for the fort.

             “Damn them!” Wil exclaims, “How did they manage to find us all the way out here?”

             “No matter how Wil. They have, and now we have to protect Natalie from them” Lyn exclaims in return. She turns towards Natalie; “Go hide inside, we’ll guard the entrances and keep them at bay. You stay out of sight, and keep quiet!” Lyn urges.

             “Yes’m!” Natalie replies with a shaking voice, and limps back inside the fortress.

             “Mark, we could use your advice right about now!” Lyn calls. As if out of thin air, Mark appears and begins issuing orders to the group.

             “Kent, Sain, you two have the most combat experience, so you’ll make for our guard at the front entrance,” they instruct.

             “Lyn, there’s a side entrance to the fort on the eastern wall, I want you and Florina to guard that entrance togehter!” The two women begin to race towards the eastern entrance of the fort as Mark continues with their orders.

             “Wil, your task is to guard the inner chamber, and watch out for stragglers. Yell if anyone manages to slip past!”

             “Got it!” Wil replies, and runs to take his post. He stops mid-step and turns back towards the tactician. “What about you, Mark? Will you be fighting?”

             “Alas, I have learned only the most basic of swordplay from Lyn,” they remark. “I have a spare sword on me, but I don’t intend to have to use it. Instead, I’ll be inside making sure Natalie is okay. I don’t want to be a liability on the front lines.”

             “Then I’ll be keeping an eye on you as well.” Wil replies, and he beckons Mark to follow. The two head for the centre of the fort, and Wil takes his place out front of the door.

* * *

             The sounds of fighting echo throughout the abandoned fortress. Natalie tries to seem brave, but shakes vigorously whilst sobbing quietly into her shawl. Mark moves closer and places a reassuring arm around her.

             “It’ll be alright,” Mark tells her, “these friends of mine will keep you safe; they’re all capable fighters in their own right.”

             Natalie nods in acknowledgement, though she continues to shiver. As Mark struggles to find something else to say, Natalie turns towards them.

             “Do you know anything about the local bandits here?” Natalie asks.

             Mark replies somewhat puzzled. “Only that they go by the name of Ganelon, and that one of their leaders, Migal, had an unfortunate happening with a small band of travelers earlier today.”

             Natalie lets out a short sigh and looks at the ground, then continues. “I can’t help but worry that perhaps my husband decided to join them for work,” she says, her voice trembling. “They’re not really known for doing physical harm, mostly just intimidating villagers for their money…” she trails off and takes a breath. “It’d be dirty money, but I feel that if that was his only option, he’d put himself through that if it meant helping me…”

             Natalie begins to sob quietly again. Mark tries to console her again when—

             * _shuffle shuffle_ *

             The sounds of shuffling feet sound just beyond the doorway. Mark bolts up with a start and calls out, “Wil, is that you?”

             Nobody answers.

             Mark hesitantly picks up their sword and calls out again. “Whoever you are, I’m armed! Retreat now, and no harm will come to you!”

             Still nobody answers.

             By now Natalie has crawled to the back corner and is cowering in fear while doing her best to keep her frightened sobs as quiet as possible. Mark begins cautiously approaching the doorway, beyond which lies only darkness. They grip their sword tight, rehearsing their brief instruction from Lyn over and over in their head, and take a step outside the doorway.

             Everything is silent…

             Wil is nowhere to be seen…

             As Mark takes in the surrounding darkness, their eyes fall on a silhouette. “Reveal yourself!” they yell, putting their sword between their body and the body of the figure in front of them.

             The mysterious figure suddenly begins to approach Mark swiftly, who stumbles and falls back in surprise. With a wince, they grip their sword tight in both hands, hoisting it above their head. More footsteps begin to approach rapidly, but with their breath caught in their throat, Mark cannot scream for help.

             They shut their eyes tight, waiting for the inevitable—

             * _fwhip_ *

             An arrow whizzes overhead and falls between Mark and their assailant who stops suddenly in their tracks. Wil’s voice calls out from behind them, “Not a step farther you rogue! Next time I shoot to kill!”

             Mark scrambles to get their footing, and turns to see Wil and Lyn swiftly approaching. As she runs towards Mark, Lyn effortlessly draws the Mani Katti, which still glows faintly and illuminates her figure with a soft, blue aura.

             “Stay right where you are!” Lyn threatens, her blade held forward confidently. “As long as you are not Taliver, you have no need to die here tonight. But take one step further, and you will not live to take another.”

             A gruff voice calls out from the darkness. “You don’t understand,” it says, “I have no choice, I need the girl.”

             “I know what your kind does to women!” Wil shouts back, “It’s despicable. You’ll die before you lay a hand on her!”

             “Please,” the voice rings out, cracking slightly, “let me have the girl. I promise to keep her safe from them, I just need the money.”

             “How can we trust a brigand like you!?” Lyn calls back. “I should cut you down where you stand you—”

             “Dorcas,” Mark suddenly says, cutting Lyn off. “Dorcas—is that your name?”

             The voice in the darkness doesn’t respond, and Lyn and Wil look to Mark quizzically.

             “Dorcas, how would Natalie feel if she knew you were here!?” Mark continues. “She’s been worried sick about you, and this is how you repay her? By risking your life and your morals for her behalf?”

             The voice stammers audibly, but nothing coherent comes of it.

             “Dorcas, what if I told you that Natalie is the woman you’re trying to take to them?” Mark says with a stern voice, and with that the man suddenly snaps to attention, his gaze fixating on Mark.

             “Natalie’s here?” he exclaims, his eyes widening.

             “She left looking for you because she was worried! She said she couldn’t shake the feeling that you might have stooped this low for her, joining with bandits in these parts. Oh how it would break her heart to know what you’ve been up to…” they trail off.

             Dorcas stares Mark right in the eyes, in tense silence, before finally dropping his axe at their feet. “Here and now, my time with these bandits is over,” he says, gesturing towards his fallen axe. Mark finally lets out their breath with a relieved sigh and turns towards the others, who stand silently frozen in disbelief.

             “What just—?” Wil begins, finally lowering his bow.

             “We’ve found Natalie’s husband!” Mark replies triumphantly, then turns towards Dorcas, “how many came with you this evening, and where are they hiding?” they demand. “If you want to prove that you bear no ill will, you’ll fight with us to help fend off the rest!”

             Dorcas and picks up his axe, turning towards the others. “There’s a weak wall on the west side of the fortress,” he begins, “I was instructed to sneak through the southern entrance during the confusion, but when I do not return, they will break down the walls and attack from the new entrance. They should have no trouble overwhelming us with their numbers that way,” he explains. “Your name is Wil, yes?” he asks turning towards Wil.

             “Yes sir!” Wil replies hesitantly.

             “Your aim is good,” he remarks, “Come with me, but shoot to injure. These men are brigands, yes, but they are only doing what they must to live…”

             Lyn and Wil look towards Dorcas, and then towards Mark, neither daring to speak.

             “I trust him,” Mark says, “if he were going to harm us or Natalie, he would have done so by now.”

             “Lyn," they start again, issuing new orders, “you stay with Florina on the eastern entrance—but this time stay close the walls to avoid any more stealth bandits.”

             “Wil, go with Dorcas and provide him with backup. I’ll go tell the knights to shadow the main entrance as well. If anyone’s front is breached, call out and fall back. Protecting Natalie is still our top priority!” they yell as they dash towards the knights at the main entrance, sword in hand.

* * *

             “We’ve returned!” Kent calls as he and Sain enter the antechamber, “No signs of stragglers, they’ve turned tail and fled for the night it seems.”

             “Alright!” Wil exclaims, pumping his fist excitedly.

             “Thanks to your knowledge and strength, Dorcas, my friends and I may owe you our lives.”

             Dorcas lets out a soft grunt, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re even—you kept Natalie safe for me… _from_ me even…” he adds with a sigh, hanging his head.

             “All’s well that ends well though, right Natalie?” Lyn asks.

             Natalie nods, wrapping her arms around her husband and smiling ear-to-ear. “I just hope that my honey here can help repay you for all you’ve done for us.”

             “Hm?” Sain starts, cocking his head. “Aren’t we saying our farewells to these two lovebirds tomorrow morning?”

             “Sain!” Kent scowls, elbowing his partner.

             “No, no, it’s quite alright!” Natalie exclaims with renewed cheer. “We’ve talked it over already while you two were out cleaning up the rest!”

             “Dorcas is going to be joining us,” Mark clarifies, turning towards the knights.

             “I’ll be taking Natalie home tonight to say goodbye. But after that, I have to go somewhere to earn money for us,” Dorcas adds. “If you think I’ll be of use, I’d like to fight for you.”

             “The more the merrier, right guys?” Wil asks, looking around. “Trust me, this guy fights with the strength of three men! I’ve never seen someone so strong fight before!! Why, I watched him-…”

             As Wil continues his tales to the others, Kent pulls Lyn aside to talk.

             “We’ll continue taking turns keeping watch tonight, Milady. Please, rest easily.”

             “Are you sure that’s alright?” she asks, looking between the both of them.

             “Y-…yeah! Of course Milady!” Sain exclaims, mustering a half-hearted salute, earning a quizzical look from Lyn.

             “If these bandits sneak up on us again, they will cut us down without mercy,” Lyn says, her voice growing solemn. “You do understand that, right Sain?”

             “You wound me Milady—do you doubt my bravery?” Sain scoffs, putting his hand over his heart. “Am I not a knight of Caelin after all?? There’s nothing to worry about with me and Kent around, right partner??”

             Kent nods. “If there’s anything suspicious, rest assured that I’ll…uhm, _we’ll_ take care of it for you,” e stutters.

             “Well then, on behalf of the rest of us, thank you and goodnight!” Lyn says with a wave, making her way back towards the storytelling circle.

             “Come on Sain,” Kent says, turning towards the entrance. “I’ll take first watch tonight.”

             “Heh…nobody trusts me…” Sain sighs, following dejectedly after his partner.


	9. Chapter 5: Beyond the Borders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the group continues to add travelers to their entourage, they safely cross the border into Lycia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays everyone!! Hope you're all ready for the countdown to your winter holiday of choice!
> 
> This chapter has taken a while for a few reasons: November of Lesbians was one, as I wrote/edited a few of those fics during the month. Another was general school/life stress, and the final was working on more progress on my world-building and languages for this project! I'm starting to have so many files and documents that I'm having trouble keeping track of everything!
> 
> That being said, I'm going to try and start uploading what I *do* have to a public Google Drive/Dropbox location for if people want to learn more about the languages and world-building that I've been doing for this project! (I'll make sure to put it somewhere easily accessible for y'all to see when I do!)
> 
> However, as I do plan to start weaving in more language and headcanoned history tidbits into this work going forward, I've decided to start including language and history notes at the ends of each chapter, so make sure to check for those from now on!!
> 
> Finally, if anyone at all is interested in possibly beta-reading these chapters as they come out, I'd love to hear from you! 
> 
> And, as always, kudos, comments, and feedback are always appreciated. It always brightens my day to know that people are enjoying reading my work!!

* * *

_Chapter 5: Beyond the Borders_

             “Serra, I’m all but certain we’ve passed this tree already…”

             “Hogwash—the last time we passed a large tree like this, it had one large root growing _away_ from us, Erk! This one has a large root growing _towards_ us, so clearly it must be a different tree!”

             “…did you ever take the time to consider that perhaps, and I’m only making a suggestion here, but that this is maybe just the _other side_ of that tree?”

             “Of _course_ I considered that!…” Serra replies, crossing her arms and huffing. Her demeanor then sinks as she begins to look around, her pink pigtails swinging with every turn of her head, “Although, uhm…now that I consider it again…”

             “Just face it Serra, we’re—”

             “ _Ugh!_ Errrk, we’re _loosst!!_ …” she whines, cutting him off. “This makes me _sooo_ mad!!”

             Erk lets out a labored sigh before replying. “…you told me you were _certain_ that this was the correct path!” he grumbles. “…and despite the other four times before, I believed you again…” he adds under his breath

             “What are you implying, Erk?” Serra retorts, turning up her nose at her companion. “If you have something to say, I should like to know!”

             Erk sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I swear…you are _not_ the woman I agreed to escort.”

             “And just what is _that_ supposed to mean!?”

             “I heard that someone was needed to escort a _frail_ , Lycian priestess to Ostia—”

             “Yes, and _I_ happen to be that priestess!”

             “You, Serra? Frail? Please,” Erk lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “You have absolutely _no_ need of any escort to protect you. Why, even the most hardened criminal would flee in absolute terror after but five _minutes_ in your company.”

             Erk scowls, ignoring Serra’s gasps of horror, and reaches into his cloak, producing a small bag of coins. “Tell you what, I’ll return your money, and you can gladly continue towards Ostia. _Alone._ ”

             Serra’s eyes widen and her lip begins to tremble. “ _Nooo!”_ she whines, “you’re _my_ _escort_ Erk! _Mine!!”_ She crosses her arms again, this time with a forced air of nobility. “You’re _so_ clean, and tidy…” she sighs, “A noblewoman like myself just _can’t_ be seen without a proper escort…Your personality may be nothing special” she scoffs, “… _buuut_ you aren’t half bad to look at,” she finishes with a wink.

             Erk buries his face in his palms, “I think that’s supposed to be my line…” he mumbles. “All the way to Ostia with you?… I hope my nerves can take this…”

             “Erk, quit being all gloomy and mumbly!” Serra scolds, her cheery tone returning as she grabs him by the arm. “Come on, I heard something over there beyond the trees! Let’s take a look—maybe they can point us in the right direction!”

             “Serr— _ack!_ Hold on, we don’t know that they’ll be willing to help us!”

             “But what if they _are,_ Erk?” she asks, prancing ahead and turning back to face him. “Besides, _you_ need all the help you can get!” she punctuates this sentence with a point of her white, gloved finger in his direction

             _“I_ need—?” he exclaims, hurrying to catch up with Serra, “I swear, the first sign of trouble, and you just _have_ to jump right in. No amount of money is worth this…”

             “Come _onnn_ Erk—look! There’s a girl out there fighting off an entire entourage of bandits!”

             _“Shhh!_ Keep your voice down!” Erk shout-whispers, grabbing hold of her shoulder forcefully, “we don’t want them to hear us…”

             “Want _who_ to hear you…?” a voice bellows from behind them.

             The two whirl around to the sight of three, imposing figures towering over them.

             “Yer in league with that she-devil, ain’t ya?” one sneers

             “Ah, good sirs,” Erk begins, his voice level, “I believe you’re mistaken—”

             “Shut yer trap!” the second bellows, showing off the glint of his axe blade in the spotted forest lighting. “Yer girlfriend there looks like I could take her out with a single, swift stroke,” he adds with a malicious grin.

             “ _Eeeeeeeek!!!”_ Serra screams, her high-pitched wails ringing through the trees, “ _Errrk!! Help meeeee!!”_

As the brigands grimace at Serra’s yells, one even putting his hands over his ears, Erk retrieves his tome from his cloak. Mumbling an incantation, he flicks his hand in the brigands’ direction, and a ball of flame leaps from the now-open pages of his grimoire, hurtling forward towards his attackers.

             The flame’s body makes contact with a brigand, who quickly erupts into flames, sending him crying and rolling helplessly on the ground. His partners watch, frozen, mouths agape as he falls to the ground, panting and wincing at the scorched flesh that now adorns his body.

             As they turn to face the young mages, they catch a glimpse of Erk’s hardened glare, and the two drop their weapons and run back into the underbrush.

             “Serra, are you alright?” Erk asks finally, turning around after watching the brigands scurry away.

             Serra dusts off her robes nonchalantly, and looks up at Erk with a raised eyebrow. “Hm? I’m fine, thanks to you.”

             “But—that scream?…ah, forget it…”

             “Let’s go Erk, we should get out of here before—”

             _*fwhip*_

Erk winces and falls to his knees. “Damn!” he exclaims, twisting about from the ground and catching a glimpse of a faint rustling in the trees. “Archers…”

             “Erk!” Serra cries, “Let me—”

             “Quiet, Serra!” he calls back, continuing to scan the trees for signs of the assailant. “Come down and face me!” he announces, wincing at the pain in his calf, “See if you can match me!!”

             As the two remain frozen in baited silence, another rustle sounds to Erk’s left. With a spoken word and a point of his finger, thousands of tiny thorns of flame spring forth and whizz in the direction of the sound. They pass harmlessly through the leaves of the treetops without a sound.

             Another rustle sounds, just to the right of the first. Erk points his finger and yells his command again, sending another flurry of flames, which once again make contact with nothing but air.

             “Erk, we need to go!” Serra cries again, before brandishing her staff in both hands and closing her eyes. Erk shudders as a tingling warmth spreads across his calf, and the pain from his wound dissipates entirely. “Get up and run!!” Serra shouts again, running off into the bushes.

             “Serra, _wait!!”_ Erk cries, scrambling up and attempting to chase after her. “We need to stay together!!”

             Erk runs after Serra, trying to keep her swishing pink pigtails in sight ahead of him. Slowly he begins to lose sight of her, until finally he finds himself chasing after nothing. “Serra!” he calls out, stopping to catch his breath. “Serra, wait up!!”

             Erk takes a deep breath and looks around him. The eerie silence of the forest beats down on him, and he takes deep, labored breaths as he slowly begins to walk forwards. His tome gripped tightly in one hand, he squints ahead for signs of anyone, friend or foe.

             _“Aieeeeee!!!”_

             Without a second thought, Erk runs ahead towards a patch of light in the trees where the familiar scream came from. As he pushes the branches out of his face, he squints at the bright light beating down outside the darkness of the forest. In front of him is Serra, face to face with an unfamiliar woman, her sword brandished elegantly in front of her. Between the two women lie two brigands, unmoving.

             “Wherever did you come from?” the elegant lady asks, sheathing her sword and shaking a strand of emerald-green hair out of her face. “and why are these bandits attacking you?”

             “Those ruffians thought we were in league with _you!”_ Serra yells at the other woman, her face turning red. “This is all _your_ fault!! _”_ she cries, pointing her staff disapprovingly, “and now that you’ve dragged us into this mess, _schpaulvä,_ I expect you to get us out!”

             “Serra!” Erk shouts, causing both women’s heads to snap in his direction, “that’s no way to talk to someone who just saved your—!!”

             “ _Erk!”_ Serra cries, running towards him and hugging him tight, “I can’t believe you abandoned me like that! How dare you treat a lady of my status in such a way!” she quickly scolds, glaring at him. “But am I ever glad to see you…I was _so scared!!”_

             “Cut it out!” Erk replies, pushing Serra off of him with a huff. “Milady, please forgive my…my _assignment_ here,” he adds with a scowl, addressing the elegant swordswoman, “and my sincerest apologies for her language. Please, do yourself a favour and trouble yourself with us no more.”

             “She certainly is full of energy…” Lyn adds, raising her eyebrows at the energetic cleric. “And yet, if these ruffians are already going after you anyway, should we not we team up together?”

             “Lyn?!” another voice calls out, as a cloaked figure wielding a sword dashes into the clearing. “Ah, there you are Lyn. I heard a scream and came running as fast as I could.”

             “This priestess was under attack by bandits, so I lent her my sword,” Lyn replies, pointing her sword towards the dead brigands at their feet. “And as they’re fighting the same enemy we are, I think we would all benefit if they fought at our side in this dispute.”

             “You heard her, Erk—go and help these ladies!”

             “Er—perhaps some introductions are at least in order first?” Mark says.

             “Hm, yes, that is a good idea. I am Serra, a _noble_ of Ostia!” Serra replies with an elaborate bow, “and this is my escort Erk, a mage in service to Count Reglay of Etrurua. Now, be a good boy and go fight for me, Erk!” she adds with an exaggerated giggle.

             “Must you command me like some sort of servant?”

             “And out of the generosity of my heart, I won’t charge you for that healing back in the forest,” she adds, ignoring Erk’s question. “Isn’t that sweet of me?”

             “…you mean when you healed my leg to prevent us _both_ from becoming human arrow-cushions?” Erk asks, his eyes narrowing in frustration. “Gods, I can’t _believe_ you sometimes…”

             “Ugh, see how he treats me?” Serra scoffs, looking towards Mark and Lyn and pouting. “I’m generous to a fault, and he just brushes me off like some horsefly!…”

             Mark and Lyn look to each other, then back to Serra.

             The air hangs heavy with an awkward silence…

             “What are those looks for? Why won’t you praise my generosity?! ”

             “Let it rest Serra…” Erk finally groans, earning another huff and a pout from the punchy cleric. “I apologize for dragging you all into this mess. Allow me to lend you my magic in return for the discourtesy.”

             “Very well,” Mark responds, “come on, the others are engaging the enemy just east of here, if we meet up with them, we should be able to drive home the winning blow!” they cry, running ahead.

* * *

             “I think that’s the last of them,” Mark says, as the last of the brigands flee into the forest. “But I had the knights survey the perimeter just to be safe.”

             “Once again, I am grateful for your tactical prowess Mark,” Lyn smiles. “And your aid was much appreciated as well,” she continues, turning towards the mages.

             “Absolutely!” Mark adds, “Your staff is truly a wonderous gift…Lady Serra, was it?”

             “Only those in the service of divine good can wield them,” Serra responds with a chuckle, “but you and your lady-friend’s swordplay were nothing to scoff at either. I had no idea that the plains-people could make such a barbaric weapon look so elegant…”

             “Erm…thank you?” Lyn replies hesitantly.

             “I think we _both_ owe you two our thanks,” Erk says, speaking over and offering another sidelong glare to his oblivious companion. “We would have stood little chance against their numbers alone.”

             “Don’t mention it,” Mark responds with a smile, “we’d never abandon someone in need of aid.”

             “Yes, well, Erk, we _do_ have a schedule to keep you know,” Serra whines. “Let’s get going before it gets dark!”

             “Yes, yes, I’m coming…”

             Erk hurries off, leaving Lyn and Mark to chuckle softly to themselves. “They certainly were an interesting pair…” Mark says.

             “I still feel bad—I think the bandits only attacked them because they thought they were with us…”

             “I didn’t realize the Ganelon bandits had such large numbers…Migal wasn’t launching empty threats after all, it seems.”

             “All clear!!” a voice rings out behind them. Lyn turns to see two horses and a pegasus swifty approaching them.

             “We’ve checked the whole area, Milady,” Kent says as they slow to a halt. “The rest have turned tail and fled.”

             “Thank you, Kent, Sain,” Lyn says.

             “And I flew ahead and found the border crossing, it’s not too far from here!” Florina squeaks.

             “Thank goodness. Do you think we’ll be safe once we cross?”

             “I doubt they’d be willing to pursue us across territory borders,” Will replies from atop Sain’s horse. “Whadd’ya think Dorcas?”

             Dorcas nods. “The marquesses of Bern and Lycia don’t take kind to bandits. We should be safe once we cross.”

             “Ah, Lycia, at last!” Sain sighs. “Come, we shall make for the inn just across the border, and dine on a feast of the finest Lycian dishes! I’ve heard that the barkeep at the neighboring tavern is quite the beauty too. Just think Kent, food and love—there’s no better way to restore a man’s soul!”

             “If your deplorable behavior keeps up like this, we’d best stay elsewhere,” Kent scolds. “We’re on a mission, not on vacation—this is no time for sightseeing!”

             “… _dezhdrüz_ ,” Sain mutters under his breath.

             “Kent, I think the inn will be fine. Goodness knows we haven’t had a good night’s rest in weeks!”

             Kent turns to Lyn and bows in acknowledgement. “As you say, Milady.”

             “Ho, Lady Lyndis—you truly are an angel from on high!” Sain swoons.

             “Please…don’t mention it,” Lyn grumbles, rolling her eyes.

* * *

             Sain sits cheerily at one of the tables towards the back of the tavern, nursing his second mug of ale. As his eyes wander from patron to patron, his eyes fall upon a woman with bright pink hair and elegant cleric’s robes sitting by her lonesome. Shotgunning the last of his ale, he stumbles over to her, a dumb grin plastered across his face.

             “Well well, what have we here?” he asks as he approaches the woman, “A wildflower perhaps? Or maybe a butterfly…”

             “Oh—? You’re one of the knights from earlier today…”

             “That I am, and your delicate beauty has captivated me!” Sain continues. “Perhaps you would make my stay here tonight that much more enjoyable…?” he adds, attempting and failing a wink.

             The young cleric giggles and rolls her eyes. “And what might I call you, sir knight?”

             “Please, call me Sain,” he says, puffing out his chest.

             “My name is Serra, I serve house Ostia.”

             “Ah, Serra, such a lyrical name…” Sain says, batting his eyes dreamily. Then, shaking his head, he continues. “I serve house Caelin’s Lady Lyndis!”

             “Lyndis…you mean that nomad swordswoman?”

             “She is the long-lost granddaughter of our Marquess Caelin! We are escorting her back to help her reclaim her title as heir to the royal family…”

             “Oh my, I had no idea you served such an important person!” Serra replies, suddenly sitting up and turning towards Sain.

             “She certainly is the vision of loveliness,” Sain replies. “and her kindness knows no bounds. Why, just the other day-…”

             “Hold on, I thought Lord Lundgren was to take the throne should the Marquess pass…” Serra says, cutting him off. “At least, that’s the latest news I’ve heard from Ostia.”

             “Ah, that dastard Lundgren…if not for Milady, that’d be true, but since Lady Lyndis is direct blood kin, _she_ is the true heir to the title, and not he! Of course, he hasn’t taken too kindly to this fact, and-…”

             Serra thinks for a moment, ignoring the drunken knights blabbering. “Say, Sir Sain…” she starts, interrupting him yet again, “I don’t suppose there would happen to be any room for my companion and I to join the Lady Lyndis’s company? She seems like _such_ a wonderful person from what you tell me, and we would _ever_ so much love to lend our aid to the cause.” She ends her request by taking Sain’s hand, and feigning a dreamy gaze towards him.

             Sain blushes and lets out a lovestruck giggle. “Why, of course!” he exclaims, “We’ve only just been saying that we could use more fighting power in our arsenal!”

             “Oh my,” Serra continues, “Were those bandits earlier today hunting _you_ specifically then?”

             “Hm? Yes, as I was just saying, it’s been such a dangerous mission…this inheritance dispute has left us, Milady’s brave guardians, the targets of both assassins _and_ brigands from all corners of the continent! Why, just a few days ago-…”

             At this point, Erk returns, smoothing out wrinkles from his cloak and plopping down next to Serra with a sigh.

             “Wow…it certainly does sound like we could lend a hand, couldn’t we Erk?” Serra asks, giving her companion a devious wink and a friendly elbow in his side.

             Erk scowls at Serra, then looks up and notices her new companion. “Whatever it is you’re implying right now Serra, I’m not sure I like it,” he sighs, exhasperated. “That was the third woman who’s tried to drag me to her room tonight, I’m not sure I can handle any of your antics in light of that…”

             “Come _onnn_ Erk,” Serra whines, “This Lady Lyndis that this good sir knight has told me about is such an _important_ person,” she adds, offering another wink. “And having people of power in debt to you is never a bad thing…”

             “Gods, you can’t be serious…” Erk groans, resting his head on the table. He then sits up and orders a drink from the passing barmaid.

             “Oh, don’t be all grumpy again, Erk,” Serra pouts, “Just think, our good deeds will earn us gratitude beyond our wildest imaginations! And all it takes is offering my staff and your magic!!”

             “Yes, I’m sure after the wonderful name you called her earlier, she’d be _delighted_ to have you around…alas, as I am still technically your escort, I unfortunately cannot say no,” Erk grumbles, “but don’t think I’ll enjoy it!…”

             “Wonderful! I shall speak with Lady Lyndis on your behalf at once!” Sain chimes in, tripping over the tavern stool, stumbling away from the mages, and disappearing into the tavern crowd.

             “I think I’m going to be ill, and it won’t be from the alcohol…” Erk groans, downing his shot of liquor and rubbing at his temples.

* * *

             “Forgive me milady, I know it’s a bit cramped, but it’s all that our budget will allow,” Kent says, bowing deeply. “I would have given you your own separate room if I could…”

             “No need for apologies, Kent,” Lyn replies with a warm smile, leaning against the door and looking inward at the small inn room. “I’m sure it will be nice for the others to sleep in proper beds tonight. Besides, it’s not as if this is the first time I’ve shared my room with either Mark or Florina before,” she adds with a smile, the smallest hint of pink flushing at her cheeks.

             “Your kindness knows no extremes,” Kent replies. “I just hope Sain eventually gives up at the tavern and goes to bed, if he can find it…I don’t want to deal with him being licked while we ride tomorrow…”

             Lyn lets out a soft chuckle, but her face soon grows serious. “Say, Kent…could I ask you something?”

             “Y-yes…yes of course, Milady,” he answers, his voice growing excited.

             “There was a cleric that we met today while fighting off the bandits. She said something that I did not understand. _Sha…_ uhm… _shup…shuplava_ I think she called me?…”

             Kents face grows sullen, and he avoids Lyn’s gaze. “ _schpaulvä_ …” he says, wincing as the word leaves his lips, then shaking his head solemnly. “Forgive me. It’s…it’s a word some people use to refer to the Sacaean nomads…”

             “Is it…bad?” Lyn asks, raising an eyebrow.

             “Yes, very…it essentially means ‘those who cannot settle down’…it’s only ever used as an insult towards the plains people”

             Lyn’s gaze falls to the floor. “I…I see,” she finally says.

             “Again, forgive me milady, that was crass and despicable of them to say such a thing to you, especially considering your status,” Kent says, bowing deeply. “I offer my sincerest apologies that that happened to you today.”

             “Trouble yourself not, Kent,” Lyn says, still looking away. “However…would you permit me take more of your time with another question?”

             “Of course, Milady, anything for you.”

             Lyn sighs and stands in silence a moment. “Do…do those of you in Lycia truly think so terribly of us? The Sacaeans I mean?…”

             Kent shakes his head. “No milady. There _are_ some who have only hate and dismay for Sacaeans, but as far as I know, those are few and far between. And the men of Caelin that I know have naught but respect for the plains people,” he adds.

             “You…you don’t think less of me as a person for being…a plains person?”

             “Perish the thought Milady!” Kent exclaims. “You barely stand out from the others in our party! As I once said at our meeting, your resemblance to your Lycian mother is uncanny,” he continues. “and your Elimish is quite good, even with your accent. In fact, truth be told, had we met in different circumstances, I think I’d have tagged you as a citizen of Bern rather than from the plains!”

             Lyn remains silent, her gaze still fixed on the plain carpeting that lines the halls of the inn. “Is that truly what you think of me?” she asks monotonously.

             “I speak nothing but the truth to you, Milady.”

             Lyn remains silent.

             “Is something still troubling you, Milady?”

             “It’s late,” Lyn finally says, her voice flat. “I should probably get some rest. Goodnight, Kent,” she says, turning and shutting the door before Kent has a chance to respond.

             “I-…goodnight, Milady…” he says, somewhat stunned, but soon turns and shuffles down the hall to his room.

* * *

             Mark blinks awake, their eyes remaining unfocused in the dark room. They stretch, then turn over and roll closer to the centre of the bed. They then open their eyes again, feeling around where Lyn had once lay and finding her spot empty. Sitting upright, they squint over to the side, and find the bed empty but for Florina’s petite figure.

             Donning their cloak, they move carefully and quietly so as not to disturb Florina or the other patrons. They leave their room and make their way down the hall, down the stairs, and through the inn’s entrance into the brisk, night air. Looking around, the quickly spot a lone figure standing a short length down the road, looking up at the stars, their long hair blowing behind them in the wind.

             Mark walks slowly towards the figure, pulling their cloak close to them and shivering. As they get closer, the figure jumps and draws a glowing sword, only to sheathe it and let out a sigh as Mark removes their hood and puts their arms up in surrender.

             “Don’t sneak up one people like that in the dark…” Lyn scolds, “you’re a tactician, you should know how warriors react to that…”

             “Forgive me Lyn, I noticed that you had left and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

             “I’m sorry…I didn’t wake you, did I?”

             Mark shakes their head.

             “And Florina?”

             “Sound asleep when I left. All this fighting has probably been a lot for her…”

             Lyn sighs, looking back up at the star-filled sky. “She’s not as frail as she seems, you know.”

             “Oh, I’ve seen her fight, I’m well aware.”

             “I wouldn’t have let her come along if I thought she wouldn’t be helpful…” Lyn adds, her voice trailing off.

             Mark moves closer to Lyn, resting a hand on her shoulder. “So what brings you out stargazing tonight?” they ask.

             Lyn moves away from Mark, shrugging off their hand and letting out another sigh. “It’s nothing…” she lies.

             “I mean, I don’t want to pry, but you’ve seemed off all night…” Mark responds, pulling their cloak closer for warmth.

             The two stand in silence a while as the night breeze rustles through the grass and the trees. The starlight bathes everything in a soft light as the rustling of foliage rings across the empty roads and through the quiet inn. The damp air clings to Mark, who squeezes their eyes shut and shivers, wishing they had brought a heavier layer with them.

             Their eyes spring open, however, when they feel a second cloak wrap around them, and see Lyn leaning against them, her tear-stained cheeks sparkling by the light of the stars. Mark wraps an arm around her as she leans against their shoulder.

             “You…you don’t mind that I’m from Sacae…do you?” she asks timidly, her voice muffled by Mark’s shoulder.

             Mark hugs Lyn close, then pulls away to look her in the eye. “Lyn, you have been nothing but kind to me since I met you. You showed me your hospitality, took me into your home even, when you could barely take care of yourself. You offered to teach me your ways with a sword, and have been nothing but patient with me despite my… _lacking_ abilities—”

             “You’ve improved a lot since we started though!” she mumbles.

             “Yes, but I’m still not nearly as skilled or graceful as you,” Mark replies. “Not to mention as strong of heart. I can only imagine what it’s been like for you—losing your family, having your life turned upside down, and still having the courage to both smile and fight on each day…”

             Lyn just nods in response, refusing to look away from Mark’s kind gaze.

             “You are an amazing and skilled and kind person _because_ you come from the plains of Sacae, Lyn, and you deserve to be proud of that part of you. While you may now be heir to the title of Marchioness Caelin, that will never change the fact that you are still Lyn, daughter of Hassar, and chieftain by blood of the proud Lorca people. I’m sure wherever they are, your mother and father would be delighted to know what a strong, honest woman you are.”

             Lyn nods again, and hugs Mark tightly, stifling her tired sobs. “Thank you Mark…you’re too kind…”

             Mark holds Lyn tight in their arms. “I’m just telling you the truth, Lyn. You deserve just as much love and kindness as you offer to everyone else.”

             Lyn smiles, and lifts her head from Mark’s shoulder, her arms still wrapped around them. She finds herself lost in their kind eyes, which glow softly in the moonlight. Before she knows it, she finds her face close enough to theirs to feel their warm breath against her own lips. Closing her eyes, her heart begins to beat like raging thunder as the rest of the world fades away from her senses. She does not hear the wind or the crickets. She does not feel the damp, piercing cold, nor smell the surrounding grass and trees. She just tastes Mark’s lips, pressed against her own, as the two stand holding each other tight, faintly lit by the the star-speckled sky.

             When Lyn finally feels Mark pull away, she opens her eyes slowly, and absentmindedly touches a finger to her lips, which are curled into a shy smile. She continues to blink, still seeing Mark in front of her, and finally lets out the breath she had been holding in fear of having been dreaming. She then finds her knees buckling, as the weight of exhaustion bears down on every bone and muscle in her body.

             Not another word is spoken between Mark and Lyn as they finally turn and shuffle slowly back to their room. But as they hang up their cloaks and settle back into bed, Mark places an arm around Lyn, who snuggles close to them happily.

             The two sleep-in well past morning, waking up the same as when they fell asleep—in each other’s arms…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linguistic notes:  
> -schpaulvä ['ʃpaʊl.væ] | noun (Lycian Elimish): "wanderer", "nomad"; a derogatory word for referring to someone of Sacaean descent.
> 
> -dezhdrüz ['deʒ.dʀyz] | exclamation (Lycian Elimish): "killjoy"; a casual remark expressing disappointment or frustration directed at a particular person.


	10. Chapter 6: Blood of Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyn receives word that a neighboring city will offer aid to her on her journey, but things take several unexpected turns on her way to accept it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the story is picking up, and there are more characters and events to juggle, these chapters are starting to get somewhat long-winded. I'm considering starting to split some of these later chapters into multiple parts and uploading them separately, though seeing as I would still have to upload them all at once, it may not make a difference...
> 
> I'm also having some struggles with just how many characters are already involved in this project, something I did not account for nearly as well as I should have when I started. A lot of you might have noticed that some characters have already started getting shafted in the interest of some of our more "main" characters. Unfortunately, like any other person, I do have favorites when it comes to characters, and the sheer volume of characters in question means that some will get much less attention than others purely for logistic purposes...
> 
> This also is probably the time to mention that I do indeed have plans to re-write some aspects of the story in the name of creative liberty. I've already been doing this somewhat, altering a few lines of dialogue for characters and whatnot, but this chapter contains perhaps one of the first more substantial deviations that I've made from the original plot, and I have plans to continue doing so as the story goes on, including re-working some major details much later down the line (like a certain character and her lack of a true legendary weapon in the original story...). If you have reservations about this, let me know!! I want to write my story, but I'm also curious to hear how it's being received...
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated. I hope you enjoy!!

* * *

_Chapter 6: Blood of Pride_

             _*knock knock knock*_

Lyn baguely processes the bed shifting underneath her, shortly followed by whispering voices. She fights against her exhaustion, but merely manages to pull the soft blankets closer to her, as a morning chill creeps into the room. The bed feels warm where Mark used to be.

             Soon enough, Lyn feels someone lie down next to her, and she instinctively rolls towards them. A pair of familiar arms wrap around her and pull her close, and before she knows it, Lyn falls back into her slumber…

             …and then wakes again with a start. For a brief moment, she panics, as her surroundings are unfamiliar. Then, she relaxes as she remembers the inn, and the night previous. Groggily, she turns over and finds herself face-to-face with Mark, who is wide awake.

             “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

             Lyn sits up and stifles a yawn, blinking the sleep from her eyes. “I, uhm-…how long have I been asleep?”

             “It’s late morning; most of the others have already been down for breakfast.”

             “Ah, my apologies.” Lyn says distantly, beginning to crawl out of bed. “Everyone must be waiting on me.”

             “Relax, Lyn,” Mark says, laying a hand on her shoulder. “There’s no rush today.”

             “But—”

             “Kent brought us good news this morning. Apparently, he sent a letter to Marquess Araphen yesterday, shortly after we arrived at the inn. This morning, he received a letter in return—not only has the marquess agreed to grant us safe passage through Araphen, but he has also offered to provide us with troops and supplies for the remainder of our journey.”

             Lyn’s eyes widen in surprise as she sits back on her heels. “That…that is wonderful news.”

             “Exactly!” Mark smiles, resting a hand on Lyn’s own. “So there’s no rush this morning to press on. The city is but a quarter day’s ride, nonstop from this border town, and we shall have time to rest this evening at Castle Araphen. It should be a smooth journey from there—you’ll be able to be with your grandfather in no time.”

             “With my grandfather…” Lyn half-whipsers, the words feeling foreign on her lips.

             “Still in a hurry to get up now?” Mark teases.

             Lyn smiles. “Well, if there really is no rush, then I suppose not. Especially-…” Lyn’s cheeks flush deep red, “especially not with…you, here…keeping me company,” she adds, touching her lips absentmindedly.

             Mark smiles, and takes Lyn’s hand, leaning in close. “May I?” they whisper, mere inches from her face.

             Lyn nods, and kisses Mark, feeling the butterflies in her stomach reawaken as before. This time, however, they flutter much more calmly. Her heart beats quickly, but steadily, and in time with Mark’s. The world still vanishes around her, but this time, it is because for the first time since leaving the plains, she feels at home.

             Soon, Lyn’s eyes flutter open again. She places a hand against Mark’s cheek, and stares deeply into their calm, brown eyes.

             “Thank you, Mark” she whispers, kissing them again, “for everything…”

             “Anything for you…Lyndis.”

             At the mention of her name, Lyn feels her face grow hot. She soon pulls away, and buries her face in her hands in embarrassment.

             “I, er…” Mark stutters. “Sorry…”

             Lyn shakes her head, her hands still glued to her face.

             “…too soon?” they ask, hesitantly.

             Lyn nods, then shakes her head again.

             “…perhaps using your _words_ might help us communicate a bit better,” Mark chuckles. “Just a thought, though…”

             Lyn socks Mark on the shoulder and grumbles incoherently.

             “Sorry…” Mark apologizes. “I promise, just ‘Lyn’ from now on, okay?”

             “…I’m just not-…not used to it, is all,” Lyn says. “I don’t… _not_ like it, it-…it just sounds weird…to hear it from you, I guess…”

             “I understand.”

             The two sit a moment in silence.

             “Well,” Mark finally says, standing up and stretching, “why don’t you get changed for today’s ride. I’ll pack the rest of our things, and then we can head down together.”

             Lyn grumbles, but climbs out of bed nonetheless. She slowly walks over to Mark and then wraps her arms around them from behind. Mark smiles, rolling their eyes, and turns around to hug her back, resting a hand on her head as she buries it in their chest.

             “As much as I am enjoying this, need I remind you we _do_ have somewhere to be today?” Mark remarks.

             Lyn grumbles again—incoherently, but clearly in disagreement.

             Mark sighs, still smiling, and lifts Lyn’s head by her chin to look her in the eye. “I promise we’ll have more time for this once we've attended to the marquess at Castle Araphen, okay?”

             Lyn nods, still pouting slightly.

             “Good,” Mark replies, giving her a last quick kiss before turning away to finish packing.

* * *

             “Well, here we are,” Kent says, turning around to address the group. “Welcome to Araphen!”

             “This is…quite the town,” Lyn remarks, taking in the bustling city sights.

             “Araphen _is_ the second largest city in Lycia, after Ostia of course!” Serra replies with a wink. “Oh, but of course!” she remarks, catching herself, “you haven’t seen a real city proper, have you?”

             “I had always thought large cities to all be like Bulgar,” Lyn answers, her eyes wide in fascination as she takes in the chaos of the city. “But now I see Bulgar is but a fieldmouse compared to bison…”

             “Why-, er, yes! And wait until you see Ostia! It’s the-…the biggest…most _beautiful_ bison of them all!” Serra continues, earning a chuckle from Mark.

             “I’ll ride on ahead to the castle and let the Marquess know we’ve arrived,” Kent continues, “I shouldn’t be long, but feel free to enjoy the city while you wait.” With that, he turns, and sends his horse galoping down the city roads towards the castle.

             “Isn’t this grand, Lyn?” Mark asks, smiling. “I feel both as if I’ve been here before, and as if I’m visiting this city for the very first time…” they add, trailing off as they look around the market square. When Lyn doesn’t respond, they turn to see her looking around uneasily.

             “Lyn?”

             She blinks and shakes her head, and a smile returns to her face. “Yes, it’s quite lovely. Though also quite loud…”

             “Everything alright, Lyn?”

             Lyn nods, and the smile fades. “Forgive me, but setting foot in this city, gives me a feeling of unease. I feel almost as if we are being watched…” she adds, resting a hand on the back of her neck.

             “I’m sure you’re just overwhelmed,” Mark says. “You said it yourself, this city is leagues grander than any on the plains.”

             “Perhaps…” Lyn replies, her eyes still glassy and distant amongst the bustle of the city.

             “’S okay, milady,” Sain groans, massaging his temples. “You…aren’t the only one overwhelmed…by all the noise…”

             At Sain’s remark, Wil rolls his eyes and leans over towards Mark: “I’m honestly shocked he found his way back to our room,” he says with a smirk, “I’ve never seen someone get so drunk off one ale before, and then have the audacity to down two more…”

             “At least he’s in familiar territory now,” Mark jokes, their voice hushed, “I suppose now that we’re no longer in bandit territory, our ‘valiant knight’ deserves a break.”

             “Milady Lyndis!” Kent shouts over the crowd as he rides back towards the group, coming to a stop next to Lyn.

             “Must you shout so…loudly?” Sain whines.

             “Let us procede to the castle, milady,” Kent continues, ignoring his alesick companion. “They’ve prepared rooms for each of us, and shall have supplies ready by the ‘morrow for-…uhm, milady?”

             Lyn squints her eyes, straining her gaze across the square. Suddenly, her eyes widen, and her hand jumps to the handle of her sword. “Stay where you are,” she says flatly as she sprints off, disappearing into the market crowd.

             Lyn sprints as fast as her legs can carry her. She makes for the alleyway where the hooded figure had been standing mere seconds before. As she rounds the corner into the darkened backstreet, breathing heavily, her head darts back and forth, looking for signs of the mysterious stalker.

             “Show yourself!” she calls sternly into the seemingly abandoned alley, but receives no response. She slowly walks further into the alleyway, her hand all but twitching at the handle of her sword.

             “I know you’re here,” she calls again, “and when I find you, I shall give you but five seconds to spill your story before I spill your organs!”

             “You’re bluffing!” a voice calls out, echoing throughout the alley.

             “The people of Sacae do not lie, and we certainly do not _bluff…_ ” Lyn calls back, “but we do know how to deal with liars and thieves…the Sacaean tradition offers one _six_ different ways to mount a disembodied head upon a spear.”

             “ _Woah_ , okay, jeez…no need to go there…”

             The hooded figure emerges from behind a stack of crates, and lowers their hood to reveal a young man’s face and messy brown hair.

             “Who are you that you would spy on me and my friends?” Lyn demands. “The longer you remain silent, the more time I have to consider silencing you…permenantly.”

             “ _Lengschleee_ my darling, these threats are ill-befitting of a woman as beautiful as you,” the man says with a smirk.

             Lyn raises an eyebrow as she starts to draw her blade, and its faint glow illuminates the alley, causing the stranger’s eyes to widen in fright.

“ _Oookay_ , alright! Your sword glows—I gotcha, I’ll quit being cocky. Forgive me,” the man pleads, putting his hands up in surrender.

             “Start talking.”

             “Look, milady, miss, I…I’m just a common market thief! You and your band stuck out like pegasi in the sands…a-and you looked rich to boot, yeah? I just thought I could snag a bit of gold to eat tonight is all. But now I see you definitely aren’t worth the trouble, sooo…I’ll just be on my way!” the man trails off, and begins to slink back into the alleyway.

             “Wait!” Lyn calls, reaching into her side pouch.

             “Please miss, I talked, didn’t I? I really don’t want any trouble…”

             “Take this,” Lyn says, holding out her hand to reveal three gold coins. “If you’re hungry enough to resort to thievery, you clearly need it more than I.”

             “…you’re a strange one, you know that?”

             “Just take it, before I change my mind…”

             “Yes’m!” the man says, bowing awkwardly as he takes the coins, and disappearing quickly into the darkness of the alley.

             With a sigh, Lyn turns around steps out of the alley, finding herself face-to-face with Kent.

             “Milady Lyndis,” Kent begins, obviously distressed. “With…with all due respect, milady—what in Roland’s name were you thinking?”

             “I spotted a man watching us from this alleyway—!”

             “So you thought to pursue him yourself? With no aid??”

             Lyn lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not _helpless,_ Kent. I can take care of myself.”

             “Yes, but milady—”

             “ _Ah!!_ ”

             Lyn cries out in pain as an arrow pierces the joint on her right shoulder. A moment later, another arrow whizzes by overhead, and a cloaked archer falls to the ground from the rooftops. Gripping the shoulder of her now limp arm and wincing, she turns to see a mounted archer lowering his bow.

             “Are you alright, milady?”

             “I-…I’m fine, Kent,” Lyn groans, through gritted teeth. “That man, over there…I think he just saved us.”

             “You there!” Kent calls, but the horseman ignores him, slinging the bow over his shoulder and turning in the saddle. As he does, Lyn catches a glimpse of the _robvon_ dangling from his ear.

             “Wait!” Lyn cries, as the rider begins to ride away. “Why did you save me?!” she calls.

             “I thought a woman of Sacae was in danger. I was mistaken…” he replies, spurring his horse away from Lyn. 

             “Saa!” _(No!)_   Lyn calls, desperately, “LáSaka dúkuhe gayáınsa!!” _(I am from Sacae!!)_

             The sound of the Sacaean tongue causes the rider to stop his horse dead in its tracks. He slowly turns his horse around and faces towards Lyn.

             “Lin lóLorkau” lékin bú’u!” _(I am Lyn of the Lorca!)_ Lyn continues, her voice desperate and giddy all at once. “Hassar Gohonçauso lékin yónuso!!” _(My father was chieftain Hassar!!)_

             “LóLorkaó?…” _(Of the Lorca?)_ the rider asks, lowering his eyebrows in suspicion. “Balon lólóraon radetie!” _(But there were no survivors!)_

             Lyn shakes her head emphatically. “Sutu’unso!” _(I am their lone survivor!)_ she cries.

             “Uhm, milady?…” Kent asks, confused.

             Lyn waves a hand to silence him, her eyes still pleading with the Sacaean nomad.

             After thinking for a brief moment, the nomad nods, and his face becomes stoic once again. “…Leave now, while you can,” he says, returning to the Elimish tongue as he addresses both Lyn and Kent. “A blaze has begun in the castle, and it is spreading quickly. Do not waste the life I have saved today.”

             “A fire? In the castle?!” Kent asks incredulously.

             “Is the marquess safe?” Lyn asks, “How severe is this fire? What is going on?!”

             “The castle is under siege, and the man who attacked you was likely with the marauders who accosted the marquess. As captain of the castle guard, it is my duty to ensure the safety of the citizens.”

             “Let us help you!” Lyn cries.

             “Milady—” Kent starts.

             “You would offer a foreign marquess your aid?” the nomad asks, raising an eyebrow.

             “If these men are attacking the castle, there is a good chance they do so because of me.” Lyn says. “I take responsibility for the fault, which means I must help if I can.”

             “I see…hukuyúyóu, lékin son gayáı,” _(Let’s go, take my hand!)_ the nomad says, extending a hand down towards her.

             “Teside!” _(Thank you!)_   Lyn says, taking his hand and swinging herself onto the horses back behind him. With a spur of his heels, the nomad sends his horse galloping away. Clinging to the horses back with her thighs, Lyn rummages through her side-pouch and pulls out a vial of ointment and a length of bandage, and sets about the arduous task of removing the arrow embedded in her shoulder with one good arm.

 _“I’m Rath,”_ the nomad says, as Lyn is in the midst of tending to her wound, _“son of-…son of the Kutolah.”_

_“Well met, Rath of the Kutolah”_

_“Our tribes may be different, but I won’t abandon a woman from Sacae.”_ Rath says. _“As a child of Hanon, you have my trust and my gratitude.”_

             Lyn nods, wincing, as she tosses the freshly-extracted arrow aside, _“A thousand blessings upon you, Rath!”_

 _“…And a thousand curses upon these knaves!”_ Rath says, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he turns towards Lyn. His face drops, however, at the sight of Lyn’s limp, bandaged arm. _“You can’t fight with a wound like that!”_

             Lyn shakes her head, _“I think the arrow pierced a ligament, but I’ll be fine! One of my companions is a healer—her magic can fix the internal damage!”_

_“And where would we find this companions of yours?”_

_“They were all in the market square when I left them earlier,”_ Lyn says, _“they can’t have gone far, and I’m sure they’d offer their aid as well!”_

 _“Very well,”_ Rath replies, spurring his horse towards the square, and through the panicked stampede of civilians running from the castle. _“The marquess is hiding safely in the throne room,”_ he continues, _“we’ll join him by using the hidden passage in the barracks.”_

_“Hidden passage?”_

_“There’s an underground tunnel that leads directly to the throne room. There are triggers in the barracks that will open the way. Once we are inside, we can drive the marauders out.”_

_“Sounds like a plan!”_ Lyn says. _“—oh, there’re my friends, over there!”_ she says, nudging Rath’s shoulder and pointing towards a huddled crowd looking around in confusion. “Everyone!” Lyn shouts, drawing their attention.

             “Lyn!!” Mark calls back, running towards her. “Lyn, what on earth is going on?? Who is this? And where’s Kent?!”

             “I will explain in detail later!” Lyn yells, shaking her head as she attempts to shout over the panicked crowd. “Right now, I need Serra’s staff, and for you to tell the others to follow Rath here to the barracks—the castle is on fire, and we are to ensure the Marquess’s safety and drive out the brigands who are accosting him as we speak.”

             “Got it!” Mark nods before taking off back towards the group.

             Lyn slides off Rath’s horse, clutching her limp arm as she lands gracefully on the ground. “I shall follow behind you as soon as my arm is mended!” she calls, as she heads towards her companions.

             “Lady Lyndis!! However did this happen?!” Serra cries when she sees Lyn's limp arm.

             “I will be fine, Serra. All it is is a torn ligament,” Lyn reassures her. “I need you to mend it, but then I ask that you stay here and—”

             “Nuh-uh! I’m coming with you!” Serra says, shaking her head and sending her pigtails swaying wildly as she holds out her staff, bathing Lyn’s shoulder in a soft light.

             Lyn shivers as her shoulder goes numb. “Serra, please; take Erk with you if you must—those of us from Caelin will go assist the Marquess and put a stop to this revolt, but the people could use your aid out here more than ever.”

             “But-…” Serra’s voice trails off

             Lyn shakes out her newly healed arm as the feeling returns to it, and grins. She places a hand on Serra’s shoulder and looks her in the eye: “Serra, this is a job only you can do for me…okay?”

             Serra’s eyes widen in awe, and she gives Lyn a determined nod. “Just you wait Lady Lyn, I’ll show you what this Ostian priestess is capable of!” she exclaims.

             “Thank you, Lady Serra!” Lyn says, giving an affirming nod. She then runs over to where Makar has been lashed to a pole, and elegantly swings herself onto his back and sends the two galloping after Rath and her companions in one fluid motion.

             Serra watches in awe a moment longer before setting about her task.

* * *

             “Sonkohó’óso?!” _(What do you mean, locked?!)_  Lyn exclaims, as she looks to Rath in disbelief. “Lúbúkuhén longóún??!” _(Do you not have a key?!)_

             Rath shakes his head, his face tensed in frustration. “…sosonyo’un.” _(These doors shouldn’t be locked…)_

“Uh…what’s the problem?” Wil asks.

             “The doors to the barracks are locked,” Lyn says, her voice tensing.

             “Our only way into the castle is through these doors,” Rath adds. “If we cannot get inside, we have no chance of reaching the marquess…”

             “Sounds to me like y’all are in a bind then, doesn’t it?” a voice calls out from behind. The group turns to see a young man sauntering towards Lyn, his short, brown hair a ruffled mess atop his smug face.

             “You!” Lyn glares, “you’re that thief from before!…”

             “Bingo!” the man says, winking and leaning casually against the wall of the barracks. “I don’t think we were properly introduced before—the name’s Levin; I’m a specialist in acquisitions of all kinds. How would you—”

             “Shoo!” Lyn says, waving the young man out of her face and turning away, “I’ve no need for the ramblings of a street thief.”

             “Really?!” Levin gasps, feigning surprise. “I suppose that means you’ve found the key to the barrack doors then? So you can go on your little rescue mission?”

             “I-…” Lyn pauses, and turns towards the cocky thief. “…how did you know we needed to get into the barracks?”

             Levin smiles smugly. “Got your attention now, eh?” he says, shrugging nonchalantly, “why, for a _modest_ fee, I could get those doors open for you, you know…”

             Lyn says nothing, and continues to glare at Levin.

             “Oh, come on, don’t be mad! Look, you need me, and I need the money, seems like a fair trade to me…”

             Lyn scowls, and reaches into her side-pouch. “How much to get you to open the doors, _thief?”_

             Levin chuckles and shakes his head, “Heh, I’m just messing with you. The lock’s already open, see?” he says, gesturing towards the lock sitting on the ground in front of the barrack doors, which hang slightly agape.

             “But-…how-…??” Lyn stammers.

             “Pretty good, eh?” Levin says. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your gesture from earlier today—this lockpicking is on the house!”

             “…and you said I was the odd one,” Lyn mutters, shaking her head. “Regardless, you have my begrudging thanks…now get out of my sight before I change my mind about letting you live.”

             “As you wish, milady…” Levin says, giving a theatrical bow before strutting off into the chaotic streets of the city.

             Lyn sighs and turns back to Rath. “Shall we then?”

             Rath nods. “Follow me, I shall lead us to the throne room.”

* * *

             “All clear!” Wil’s voice echoes through the stone halls to the left of the throne room.

             “Our end’s clear too!” comes Kent’s voice from the other end.

             “We’ve extinguished all the fires scattered about as well!” Mark calls, as they run up to Rath. “It seems they were mostly set in harmless areas—to smoke people out and create chaos to cover their actions.

             Rath nods. “Agreed—this attack was planned quite well, from the looks of it. No doubt it was organized by someone with many resources…”

             “You don’t think…” Erk says, trailing off, having returned with Serra after calming the citizens in the square. 

             Kent nods. “The man that shot Lady Lyndis bore the mark of Caelin on his robes. This was definitely Lundgren’s doing—he somehow knew we’d be here, and had the time to set up such an elaborate plan before we arrived.”

             “That dastard…” Sain groans.

             “Well, well, well…” a snobbish voice sounds from behind Sain. The group turns to see Rath walking alongside a man wearing elaborate, scarlet robes adorned with gold trim.

             “My captain here tells me it was you lot who helped drive out these ruffians,” the man states. 

             “Yes milord,” Kent says, bowing.

             The rest of Lyn’s crowd awkwardly follows suit.

             “Rise,” the man orders, as his eyes sift through the ragtag mercenaries in front of him.

             “You are Marquess Araphen, then?” Lyn finally asks, breaking the awkward silence.

             The Marquess glares in Lyn’s direction. “And who might _you_ be?”

             All eyes turn nervously towards Lyn. “My name is Lyndis, daughter of Chieftain Hassar of the Lorca, and Lady Madelyn of Caelin,” she says calmly. “I am pleased to see you unharmed.”

             “You’re-…?” Marquess Araphen pauses, his piercing gaze directed at Lyn. “I see,” he finally mumbles, turning away and starting to pace the room. “You are dismissed captain,” he says, without looking towards Rath, “I would speak with this girl alone.”

             Rath bows, and exits without a word. Lyn and the rest of her comrades stand awkwardly still as the marquess roams around the room.

             “Now then, Lady…Lyndis,” Marquess Araphen continues, his gaze affixed to the floor as he paces, “do you perhaps know the identity of those responsible for today’s uproar?”

             Lyn nods. “I believe my grand-uncle Lundgren is responsible.”

             “Pre- _cisely_ ,” the marquess says, turning towards her suddenly and causing her to jump. “Which means that _my_ castle has been damaged in your family’s _petty_. _Inheritance. Dispute._ ”

             Lyn cringes as the marquess all but spits out each of his last three words. “My-…my apologies, m-milord,” she stammers.

             “When I heard that lovely Lady Madelyn’s daughter was in trouble,” the marques coos, resuming his laborious pacing, “I thought I would lend her my assistance…” He pauses, and sighs: “I find I’ve changed my mind now—I withdraw my offer.”

             “Milord—!” Kent begins.

             “Silence!” the marquess yells, whirling towards Kent and holding his hand aloft. “You will speak only when spoken to!”

             Kent nods hurriedly.

             “…you, you are the knight Kent, yes?”

             Kent nods again.

             “Well, Kent of Caelin, you should have been more specific in your letter to me…” Marquess Araphen snarls.

             The group is silent.

             “Well?!” Marquess Araphen cries, startling the group, “what do you have to say for yourself??”

             “I-…I’m afraid I don’t-…I don’t understand, milord,” Kent says, hesitantly.

             Marquess Araphen pinches the brow of his nose in exasperation. “Yes, this girl resembles the lovely Lady Madelyn, as you said in your letter, Kent, but I didn’t expect her to be so… _tainted,_ with Sacaean blood,” the marquess says, screwing up his face in disgust.

             A wave of shock runs through the group, who remains ever silent.

             “What…?” the marquess continues, looking across the livid faces in front of him with sick amusement, “you don’t think Marquess Caelin would be disappointed to meet this…this _wa-rolschke sclalem?”_

             Several gasps sound.

             “You-…” Sain stutters, his face furious, “you-, you _dirt-crawling-…! You slime-covered—!!”_

 _“Enough,_ Sain!” Kent shouts, grabbing ahold of his partner’s arm as he tries to claw his way towards the marquess.

             “Hmph,” the marquess tuts, turning away from Sain’s lacerating remarks. “I see Caelin needs to train its _dogs_ better…”

             “Marquess Araphen, please-!” Kent stammers, still struggling to keep Sain at bay, “Despite her Sacaean blood she is still Madelyn's blood! If my initial request was too much, we could negotiate—just some supplies would do, we would still be grateful _—_ ”

             “The rumours flying around are that Marquess Caelin is ill and abed…” Marquess Araphen muses, ignoring Kent’s pleas. “Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise, for I fear he may not live long enough to meet this…girl. That would mean, of course, that his brother, Lundgren, shall claim his title. And I would _hate_ to start trouble with the coming marquess, you see…” he smirks.

             “You scheming _horse-maggot…”_ Sain grumbles.

             “Hold your tongue Sain!” Kent bellows, “we need this man’s—!”

             “I understand, milord. We shall take our leave at once.”

             All eyes turn to Lyn again, who holds herself calmly.

             “Milady-” Kent asks, dumbfounded.

             “I am quite proud of the Sacaean blood that runs through my veins, milord,” Lyn states matter-of-factly. “I can safely say that I should not like to accept aid from one who disparages my heritage so.”

             The marquess’s face falls in shock.

             “Come Sain, Mark, Florina; everyone—let us leave Marquess Araphen before we disturb him any further.”

             And with that, Lyn turns away and walks down the hall towards the castle gates.

* * *

             As Lyn tightens the straps on Makar’s saddle, she feels a hand on her shoulder.

             “Milad-…uhm, Lyn?”

             Lyn turns to see Kent, his face dour. He kneels in front of her, his gaze remaining fixed on the ground.

             “I beg your forgiveness,” he begins, “no amount of words will make up for the pain I have put you through on account of my insensitivity…”

             “No…no they will not,” Lyn says curtly.

             “All this time, I’ve been so concerned with seeing you to Caelin that I failed to take your feelings into account…I should have thought about how Marquess Araphen would have reacted to your mixed blood…but instead—”

             “Kent…” Lyn sighs, and crosses her arms. “The marquess’s words were vile yes, but…they hurt far less than yours have thus far…”

             Kent slowly looks up, his eyebrows raised.

             Lyn sighs. “Kent, you are a brave and valiant knight. You have put my safety above all else, and for that I will always be grateful. But that is exactly why it hurts me to hear you speak of me as a lesser person for my Sacaean blood…”

             Kent’s expression falls again as he hangs his head.

             “Despite his temper, Sain _did_  come to my defense against the marquess’s disgusting insults towards me and my family. You merely begged him to negotiate…why should I hold any respect for a knight who-…who _bargains_ when his liege is belittled so, especially by those who outrank her?”

             “…you shouldn’t…” Kent mumbles.

             “Then perhaps you understand that you cannot merely _beg_ for my forgiveness,” Lyn says as she hauls herself into Makar’s saddle. “You shall have to _earn_ it through your actions instead.”

             “Yes, milady,” Kent says, before finally getting to his feet and walking back towards his horse.

             “That was well-put back there in the castle, milady!” Sain says, sporting his usual cheeky grin as he rides up alongside Lyn. “The marquess was absolute horse-vomit, but you have no need to worry about him! We’re all here for you, even my partner, commander mopey-greaves!”

             Lyn can’t help but chuckle at Sain’s enthusiasm. “Thank you Sain—I’m counting on you, you know.”

             “Ah, milady, you are as kind as you are lovely…” Sain swoons. 

             “Lyn?”

             Lyn turns to see Mark looking up at her atop her horse.

             “Give me a hand up?”

             Lyn extends her hand down, hoisting Mark up into the saddle behind her. Their arms wrap around her and hug her tight, and she leans into their comforting touch.

             “Mark…Thank you…” she whispers.

             Mark plants a soft kiss on her shoulder. “I must say, you have quite the unbreakable spirit. I envy your ability to have stood up to the marquess like that.”

             “I…I decided I need to persevere…the marquess said my grandfather was ill, so we must hurry, now more than ever.”

             Mark nods. “We may not have gotten any aid from the marquess, but at least we should be able to purchase more supplies in town before we leave.”

             Lyn nods. “We have but little money left, but I suppose we’ll have to make do…”

             “Lyn of the Lorca…”

             Lyn sits up suddenly, and turns to see Rath sitting atop his horse.

             “Proud daughter of the Sacae, I would add my strength to yours.”

             “Rath? What are you—?”

             “I overheard the marquess talking to himself earlier. I shall spare you the contents of his speech, but know I have ended my service to him. Instead, I would join you and repay you for your aid earlier.”

             “Truly?”

             Rath nods, and holds out a sizeable bag. “And this…I offer it to you as well.”

             Lyn takes the heavy bag and opens it to look inside. “This is…gold!” her eyes widen at the sheer number of gold coins inside the bag.

             “This could buy us enough to make it to Caelin and back several times over!” Mark exclaims, looking over Lyn’s shoulder at the bag of gold.

             “Rath, this is too much, I cannot accept it!”

             “I cannot take back a gift offered,” he says, shaking his head. “If it will help you, then spend it as you see fit.”

             Lyn nods, tying the bag shut again. “A thousand blessings upon you Rath…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linguistic Notes:  
> -lengschle [lɛŋ.ˈʃle] | exclamation (Lycian Elimish): "relax"; "take a chill-pill"; said when somebody is worked-up about something. 
> 
> -robvon [ʁɔp.ˈfon] | noun (Lorcan Hanonese): "starstone"; an earring carved from "starstone", a translucent rock that can take on many colours, traditionally worn by Sacaean warriors, and often adorned with beads, feathers, and other touches. 
> 
> -teside [te.si.ˈde] | phrase (Sacaean Creole): "thank you"; shortened from a longer phrase in Old Sacaean which literally translated to "may you live many good lives."
> 
> -wa-rolschke sclalem [wɑ.ˈʁɔlʃ.kə ˈskla.lɛm] | exclamation (Lycian Elimish): "diseased mongrel" (lit. "worm-eating animal"); a grave insult for someone of Sacaean descent, likening Sacaean nomads to, well, diseased beasts...
> 
> Note that, from now on, if two characters' dialogue is in italics, it means that they are speaking to each other in a language that is foreign to others around them (because sometimes I'm too lazy to translate/transcribe entire conversations...)
> 
> A more literal translation of Lyn & Rath's conversations in SCre:  
> -láSaka dúkuhe gayáınsa--"I was given life (born) in Sacae"  
> -Lin lóLorkau lékin bú’u--"Lyn of the Lorca, that is my name"  
> -Hassar Gohonçauso lékin yónuso--"The chieftain Hassar was my father"  
> -balon lólóraon radetie--"They (the Lorca) all live with the wolves now" ("to X with wolves" is a euphemism for death)  
> -sutu'unso--"One of them does not"  
> -hukuyúyóu, lékin son gayáı--"You are given the ability to ride, I offer you my hand" (instead of making suggestions, e.g. "Let's ride", it is more polite to state that one has the option or ability to do something, and allow them to accept or decline the offer)  
> -sonkohó’óso?--"It has been tied (locked)?"  
> -lúbúkuhe longóún?--"You do not hold a splitter (key)"  
> -sosonyo'un--"They don't have the option of being tied (locked)."


	11. Chapter 7: Siblings Abroad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are running high between the members of Lyn's group, and a pair of strangers getting involved has only made things worse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell it has been a while. The main reason for the hiatus is because I'm supposed to be graduating undergrad this Spring, so a combination of academic and personal stresses have been through the roof for the past month and a half. However, now that I have a handle on things again, I realized I've been mere paragraphs away from finishing this chapter since mid-February, and decided to just finish it now! (Of course, this doesn't mean this update schedule is going to miraculously become regular, tonight was just a lucky night!)
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated. I hope you enjoy!!

* * *

 

_Chapter 7: Siblings Abroad_

             “I said we don’t serve your kind here!” The man behind the counter heaves an axe over his shoulder and glares at Lyn. “Now get out of my sight before you stench up my inn with your nomad stink!”

             Lyn bows her head in defeat and steps out of the inn. Somberly, she climbs onto Makar’s back and sits there, unmoving, letting the rain wash over her.

             “Sheesh…” Wil says, shaking his head, scattering water droplets from his hair, “that’s three for three now…”

             “The nerve of some folk,” Serra adds with a huff, pulling her cloak tightly around her and shivering. “I can’t believe people could be so cruel to such an _important_ person…”

             “You do not notice until their cruelty is directed at you,” Rath says, his face stoic as always.

             “Well, no sense in sticking around here. How much father is the next inn?” Mark asks, stifling a yawn.

             “About another four sun’s ride,” Rath answers matter-of-factly, “given that it is not likely that we will encounter any inns who will serve either myself or Lady Lyndis until Kathelet…”

             “Four days?…” Sain groans.

             “And the sooner we start riding, the sooner we’ll get there,” Kent replies. “It’s not as if we haven’t gone without the comforts of an inn before…”

             “The rest of you should eat and get some sleep…” Lyn says, her gaze still fixed downward. “You will all need your energy to continue, and it pains me so to hold you all back.”

             “And what, leave you outside in this rain?” Wil asks.

             “I have endured worse before…”

             “Lyn…” Mark goes to place a hand on Lyn’s shoulder, but she shrugs it off.

             “Surely you jest, milady?” Sain says, breaking the sour silence. “and give that lout of a marquess the satisfaction of you having suffer in the rain on your lonesome? Perish the thought—none of us shall enjoy the luxuries of a warm bed and meal until—”

             “Please-, Sain-…” Lyn pleads, cutting him off. “There is no sense in you all suffering because of me…”

             The sour silence returns, accompanied by the now-heavy rainfall droning in everyone’s ears.

             “Right then,” Kent says, turning his mount back towards the road. “We make for Kathelet, and we don’t stop at any inns until we find one that will serve _all_ of us.”

             Pairs of eyes look towards Lyn, who simply shrugs in defeat before taking her place in the riding line behind Kent.

             With that, the group presses on, exhausted, in low-spirits, and slowly being chilled through as their cloaks begin to sag from the weight of rain…

* * *

             The days are long and tiring as the group skirts along Bern’s western border. Where once the familiar sounds of chatter had sounded amongst friends, a tense silence hangs over the group. Sain’s jokes have ceased, and though he wouldn’t admit it, Erk would even be happy to hear the sound of Serra’s whining.

             And while the daytime rides feel almost hollow, they are nothing compared to the nights. With rain-shear from Bern’s western mountain range come deluges that turn the normally soft grasses into soggy swamps, leaving only harder ledges to sleep upon if one wants to avoid drowning, and they still are cold and damp.

             The dampness seeps into everyone’s clothes, and further still into their skin, leaving the group weary, cold, and cranky. Rations dwindle, and fires are not only ill-advised with bandits patrolling Bern’s outskirts for unsuspecting victims, but are all but impossible in spite of the pouring rain.

             After four long days of solemn riding, and rainy nights of uncomfortable slumber, Kathelet’s border finally appears in the distance; it’s inn lit beautifully by the setting sun. Lyn’s companions tie their exhausted horses up in the stables, and the group of soggy travelers desperately floods into the entrance, requesting rest, food, and above all else, dryness and warmth from the endless rain.

             But first, plans must be made. The group will rest tonight, and purchase rations and supplies on the morrow—time is of the essence if Lyn’s grandfather is as ill as Marquess Araphen let on…

             With a full stomach, and warm, dry clothes for the first time in days, Lyn heads upstairs and down the hall to her room, practically dragging an exhausted Florina behind her. The two all but collapse into bed, eager for proper sleep.

             Florina falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow, and soon curls up next to Lyn as she always did back when they were younger. Lyn, however, finds herself staring blankly at the celing. Perhaps it is her worry for her grandfather that keeps her awake, or maybe that she has just eaten, or that the fabric of the sheets feels artificial and foreign compared to the Sacaean blankets that she is used to sleeping with…

             No, it’s not that.

             Lyn knows why she is awake, even if she won’t admit it.

             She absentmindedly runs a hand through Florina’s curls while formless thoughts swirl in her head. None take any helpful shape, and thus serve no purpose other than to keep her awake, feeling angry, hurt, tired, but most of all, ashamed…

             She closes her eyes, but the thoughts continue to swirl menacingly around her. Perhaps this was how all the world was outside of the plains. Her parents always warned her about the bandits that lived beyond the mountains, but bandits she could fight back against. It was the men beyond the mountains she should have been taught to fear—men who hold power over other men not because of their merit, but because of their hunger for control. Men who care not for other people in the world, but only for themselves and what they can gain…

             Then Lyn opens her eyes, as she feels a hand take hold of her own. She turns to see Florina’s face, eyes wide open and awake staring back at her.

             “Nilukōū?” _(Can’t sleep?)_ Lyn asks, sighing.

             Florina shakes her head no.

             “…mikī’i,” _(…yeah, me neither)_ Lyn answers, turning to look back up at the patterned celing.

             Florina squeezes Lyn’s hand affectionately, and then brings it up to softly caress Lyn’s cheek. Lyn, comforted by the gesture, closes her eyes and leans into Florina’s touch. Soon, however, Florina’s hand wanders down Lyn’s neck as she traces her fingers across Lyn’s chest.

             Confused and slightly off-put, Lyn turns back towards Florina, who’s eyes are almost glassy as they stare back at Lyn.

             “Lolina-…ínk—?” _(Florina-…what are—?)_ she starts, but Florina puts a silencing finger over Lyn’s lips. Slowly, Florina climbs on top of Lyn, straddling her legs on either side of Lyn’s hips.

             “…so…pretty…” Florina mumbles, as if in a trance. She smiles an innocent smile at Lyn, her eyes still holding a faraway gaze. And yet those eyes, so kind and sweet; Lyn can’t help but stare back into them as they get closer, and closer…

             While her mind warns not to, Lyn reaches an arm around Florina and pulls her close to her, their lips meeting in a moment of soft warmth. Lyn’s body relaxes as she is enveloped by the faint scent of pine and lavender. A pair of gentle hands traces their way across Lyn’s body, and Lyn shivers in delight. Florina kisses her again, and Lyn wraps her arms around her, hugging her close.

             The rest of the world drains from Lyn’s senses, and for a moment, not a care exists in Lyn’s world, where only she and Florina exist…

             …that is, until the door swings open, bathing the two women in evening torchlight. A silhouette stands frozen in the doorway as Lyn scrambles to collect herself. Her sleep robes are gone, as are the bedsheets. She stands, embarrassed and exposed, in full view of the intruder.

             Mark’s face looks back at her in shock and hurt. They remain frozen, their mouth agape.

             Lyn’s head begins to spin, and though she, too opens her mouth to explain, no words come out.

             Quiet sobs sound behind her, and Lyn turns to see Florina standing in the doorway; or rather, another doorway…? But wasn’t—?

             Lyn looks around frantically and recognizes the decorations and banners of Castle Araphen. At one far end of the hallways stands Florina, sobbing quietly. At the other end, Mark stands, silent and unmoving. Florina curls up on the floor, still sobbing, as a tree begins to sprout from her back, while Mark stands tall as their flesh turns to stone, transforming into a castle tower…

             Suddenly, the demented hallway begins to shake, and the ground opens up around Lyn’s feet, leaving her standing on a precarious pillar extending from the void below. To her left, a pegasus now cries to her from the tree branches, having found itself caught in them. To her right, the castle walls are being stormed, and the people within cry out for her aid as well.

             As Lyn’s head turns one way and another, the pillar beneath her begins to crumble as well. If she doesn’t jump surely she will fall…and indeed, before she can decide which way to jump to safety, Lyn’s foot slips off the ledge of the platform, and she finds herself falling into the abyss below…

* * *

             …and wakes with a start in the room of the inn. She swallows, and blinks her eyes laboriously. Her heart beats rapidly in her chest, and she struggles to sit up against her grogginess. Her sleep robes cling to her skin, damp in cold sweat, and Florina lies, curled up in a ball at the far end of the bed, fast asleep.

             Lyn breathes a heavy sigh of relief and closes her eyes. She rubs at her temples, trying to shake her nightmare from her head, until she convinces herself that the dream held no meaning. Finally, she climbs out of bed and slips on her moccasins, hoping a small walk might clear her head.

             And then she hears a muffled scream sound from the hallway.

             Without a second thought, Lyn grabs for the Mani Katti at her waist, and instead grabs air. Her weapons were surrendered with everyone else’s upon checking into the inn.

             Still in her sleep robes, and without a weapon to speak of, she opens the door silently and peeks her head through the opening. She looks down the hall and sees several men standing, crowded around one of the doorways just a couple doors down from her own. They wear black cloaks, their faces are covered by cowls, and several of them carry weapons. Two of them drag an unconscious girl out by her arms, while a young boy fights fervently against two more.

             “Lemme go!” he cries, his shouts muffled by one of the men’s hands covering his mouth. “Don’t you touch my sister!!”

             Lyn watches in confused horror as one of them men swings the pommel of his sword right into the boy’s stomach. The air is expelled from his lungs with a sickening gasp, and he falls limp in their arms.

             The men whisper amongst themselves, and the one holding the boy drops him to the floor. The other swings the girl over his shoulder, where she hangs, limp, and unmoving.

             “Hey!!” Lyn calls, drawing the attention of the kidnappers. “What is the meaning of this?!”

             “The work of the Black Fang doesn’t concern you, little lady,” one of the men responds.

             “But they’re only children!” Lyn cries in response.

             “They’re traitors to Lord Nergal!” another replies, “Now let us do our duty, and we’ll be on our way.”

             Lyn pauses, and watches as the group of men turns back and discusses amongst themselves in hushed tones. Shortly, they make to leave, dragging the boy behind them.

             In a fit of rashness, Lyn runs up behind the group of departing kidnappers, her footsteps silenced by the carpeted floors. With the element of surprise, she tackles the man dragging the boy behind him to the ground.

             The man swears as he loses his grasp on the boy and is brought to the ground. Instantly, two of his companions have swords at Lyn’s throat, who lies sprawled on top of her target.

             “Who do you think you are, some kind’a hero?” one of the men standing over her asks, his beady eyes just visible as they glare at her from within his headscarf.

             “Let the boy and his sister go,” Lyn demands from the ground, struggling to keep ahold of the man she tackled.

             The two chuckle before speaking. “Or what?” the other asks coyly, “That stunt of yours ain’t working again…”

             “I said, let them go,” Lyn repeats, her eyes narrowing in disgust.

             “What a shame…” the first man laments with a sigh, “You’re throwing your life away for a matter that don’t concern you, stupid girl…”

             With that, he heaves the pommel of his sword above his head, and brings it down swiftly. Lyn rolls out of the way, causing the man to swing at air, but letting her hostage go in the process. The other armed mercenary brings her foot down into Lyn’s stomach, winding her, and pinning her to the ground. She grabs hold of her leg, trying to bring her down as her companion brings his sword down for another strike…

             …as the room is filled with a blinding light.

             Peering over her arm, Lyn sees the two cloaked mercenaries lying in front of her. Their cowls have burned away revealing their faces. Their eyes are shut tight and their skin is red and blistering, as if harshly sun-scalded.

             “Damnit—Leave the boy, and let the boss take care of ‘ese two!” one of the men hisses to the others, “we’ve got the girl, she should be enough!”

             The others nod as they dash down the hall to the stairs. One man takes out a glass orb and drops it on the ground before crushing it under his heel. A black smoke begins billowing forth from the shards of glass, and soon a dark-robed figure steps out from it. Black smoke still curls at the fringes of his robes as they drag across the floor.

             Lyn tries to crawl away, breathing heavily. As she does, however, another mysterious figure steps out in front of her. Their robes are blue and white, with the mark of St. Elimine upon them, and their hood is down revealing long, golden-blonde hair tied back with a ribbon.

             “I’ll take care of this man, and watch over the boy,” they say in hushed tones, kneeling down by Lyn and placing a hand on her shoulder. Their face is soft and fair, and their deep, blue eyes give off a calming gaze. “You stay in your room, until I return, agreed?”

             Lyn nods, and quickly crawls back into her room and shuts the door. She leans back against it, shivering violently as a cold chill seeps into the room. Occasionally another bright light flashes from behind the door light a lightning strike, and each one causes her to jump.

             Soon, the chill all but dissipates, and the flashes stop. Lyn sits, still propped up against the door, until a knock sounds, startling Florina awake in the process.

             Lyn opens the door, met by the figure in blue and white, and the rescued boy standing groggily at his side, shaggy, turquoise hair hanging in front of his face.

             “Please forgive me,” the robed individual begins, “I hope I did not startle you just now?”

             Lyn shakes her head. “Your robes,” she begins in turn, “They resemble religious vestiary—are you an Elimine bishop per chance?”

             “Yes-…well, somewhat,” they stammer in return, “I’m only an acolyte, truly—an Elimine monk to be specific. My name is Lucius.”

             “Well met, Lucius,” Lyn responds, still shaken slightly. “You may call me Lyn.”

             Lucius nods in acknowledgement.

             “Do you two have further business with us?” she asks, hesitantly.

             Lucius turns to the boy and offers a kind, encouraging look. With a deep breath, the boy turns towards Lyn and speaks.

             “Please, miss…” the boy says, visibly shaken, “you…are you a mercenary?”

             “…what if I am?” she responds, unsure what to think of the boy’s gravely, almost growling voice.

             “I need your help…” he continues, his breathing still ragged. “You saw those men…they took Ninian! She’s my sister…I-…I don’t know what I’d do without her…”

             Lyn remains silent, unsure of what to say.

             “I was in the lobby when those men arrived,” Lucius explains further, “The innkeeper seemed all too willing to let them in and show them to the boy’s room. He was…unpleasant, to put it lightly.”

             “I knew he didn’t like us…” the boy adds, “but Ninian ‘n’ I are used to being treated that way…”

             “…I see,” is all that Lyn can say.

             “I truly wish to help the boy, if only a little,” Lucius continues, “and if you would be willing, I would lend you my services…”

             Lyn thinks a moment, then nods. “I shall get the rest of my companions ready,” she says, causing the boy’s face to light up. “We will find the men who did this, if you can lead us to them,” she continues turning towards the boy.

             The boy nods excitedly. “Uh huh! But you saw how tough they are, so you’ll need to be careful!”

             “My companions and I are pretty tough ourselves,” Lyn replies. “Wait for us downstairs,” she says to Lucius, “we will be as quick as we can.”

             “The blessings of St. Elimine be upon you,” Lucius replies, bowing, before taking the boy by the hand and heading down the hall.

* * *

             “Milad-…Lyndis, you mustn’t have let your guard down like that! Not even for the sake of a child!” Kent protests.

             “Don’t tell me what I mustn’t have done, Kent,” Lyn replies, coldly, “I want to help this child and his sister.”

             “His sister?” Sain pipes up, “Did you say his sister was the one who was taken?”

             “Yes, by a band of ruthless mercenaries. The boy is in a state of shock, and doesn’t know what to do without her…”

             “Kent, we _must_ help this boy!” Sain replies, eagerly

             “Nonsense, Sain,” Kent snaps, “We haven’t the time! If the marquess is as ill as we have heard, we must proceed to Caelin with all haste!”

             “That’s enough Kent!” Lyn snaps back. “I too am worried about my grandfather. But this-… I simply cannot stand by and let a child be taken from her home!”

             “I-…” Kent begins, before bowing. “Forgive me milady. I am your loyal retainer, and you must do as your heart dictates…”

             “I was hoping you’d say th—”

             “…and yet,” Kent continues, “you would have us ride off and put us in danger for some child you’ve just met?? That is not a logical decision, and I cannot endorse it!”

             The two stand in tense silence, staring the other down.

             “There’s no turning back now,” Lyn finally says, with frighteningly calm resolve, “I’ve already promised the boy I would help him.” With that, she shuts the door behind her, leaving the stunned knights in silence.  

             Kent sighs, pinching the brow of his nose. “…I’ll go let the Ostian mages know we’re leaving soon.” he says, stepping out into the hallway leaving Sain to collect their belongings.

* * *

             “What do you mean she left?” Kent growls incredulously, mere minutes later at the entrance to the inn.

             “I’m just relaying what she told me to tell you!” Wil protests, holding his arms up in surrender. “I wanted to go with her and the others, but she told me to stay behind, and that I should tell you she no longer wants your help getting to Caelin…”

             “Damn her…” Kent curses, receiving horrified looks from the remaining group. He further mutters incoherently to himself as the others look on in uncertainty.

             “Well,” Serra begins, “…aren’t we going to go after her and help her??”

             “We don’t even know where she went,” Erk reminds her. “And may I also remind you that I am to guide you to Ostia sometime, preferably within the year?”

             “Wil” Sain asks, getting the villager’s attention, “which way did she ride off?”

             “That way,” Wil replies, pointing down a southbound road. “She left only minutes ago.”

             “Then if we leave now, we could still catch up to her!” Sain exclaims. “I’m leaving to help my liege, alongside anybody who wishes to help her!”

             “I’m going too!” Serra chimes in, hopping with excitement. “And that means you’re coming with me Erk!”

             “But—”

             “Lady Lyndis has been nothing but kind to us since we asked to travel with her, and you would let her just leave on such a dangerous mission on her own? How could you Erk…” Serra pouts, turning away.

             Erk lets out another sigh and raises his hands in defeat.

             “Count me in too!” Wil exclaims. “I’d have already gone after her if I had a horse of my own…” he admits sheepishly.

             “Forgive me,” a soft voice says, drawing the group’s attention. “But are you all perhaps friends of Lyn’s?”

             Lucius walks calmly towards the group, the young boy tagging along a couple paces behind him.

             “Who wants to know?” Kent asks, still scowling.

             “Please…” the boy steps in front of Kent and begs with pleading eyes, “You must understand, my sister and I aren’t bad people. But the men who took her away are, and my sister won’t survive long on her own like this…That woman, Lyn, is only helping because I asked her to, so if you want to blame anyone for her leaving, you should blame me…”

             Kent’s face remains stoic, but his gaze softens at the sight of the helpless boy pleading in front of him.

             “Such a noble speech!” Sain remarks, riding up alongside them on his horse. “You’ve the makings of a true knight you do!”

             “I can help you find her if you need…” the boy continues, encouraged by Sain’s praise.

             “Can you fight?’ Kent asks, finally speaking up.

             “Well, no…” the boy mumbles, his gaze falling slightly. “But I am a bard, and bards can be useful to have around—!”

             “This is no place for a ballad or a saltarello.” Kent replies, narrowing his eyebrows again.

             “— _aaand_ I can lead you towards where my sister and your friends have gone!” he finishes, a hint of annoyance on his face.

             “Well, why didn’t you say so sooner?!” Sain asks, extending an arm down to the boy. “You’re in luck today laddie—we’re gonna help save your sister!!”

             “I guess we have no choice…” Kent sighs, untying his horse and climbing into the saddle. “Come on everyone, let’s ride!!”

* * *

             Lyn’s small group approaches the seemingly abandoned fort with caution. Hand gripping the Mani Katti tight, Lyn slowly steps up to the entrance and peers inside into its dark corridors.

             Not a soul to be seen.

             She waves Florina and the others over, and Mark begins to explain the plan.

             “We shouldn’t split up if these kidnappers are as skilled as Lyn says,” they begin. “Lyn and Florina will take the lead. Dorcas, I’m counting on you to help me watch our back. Rath stays between the four of us and provides cover fire if necessary. And whatever you do, do _not_ get separated. Understood?”

             The group nods in unison.

             “Alright,” Lyn says, “Let’s do th—”

             Her words are cut short as Rath loosens an arrow just over her shoulder, embedding itself in a black-robed figure, who falls to the ground, dead. As he falls, two more cloaked mercenaries take his place, but are swiftly cut down by Lyn in turn.

             Another handful of black-robed men emerge from the trees nearby the fort, but a combination of Dorcas and Mark are sufficient to incapacitate them. Florina spears another couple assassins as they approach from the flank. And yet, for every shadowy figure cut down, it seems two or three continue to take their place.

             “They’re trying to surround us!” Mark shouts to the group amidst the fighting. “Everyone, form a tight group, and we’ll—!”

             Their words are cut short as the backside of an axe catches them across the side of the head, and they crumple to the ground, unconscious and bleeding. Next to him, Dorcas offers a swift rebuttal, but is soon overcome by another wave of reinforcements, and is quickly overwhelmed.

             “NO!!!” Lyn cries, as she clambers towards them, swiping her sword in a panicked frenzy at the men in her way, until a stray blade knocks the Mani Katti out of her hands, and a sword pommel is thrust into her stomach.

             The wind knocked out of her, she collapses to the ground in agony.

             Her vision swims…

             The sounds of fighting sound so far away…

             Someone must be dragging her along the ground…?

             And then the world fades from her senses…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (No Linguistics Notes this time--the few bits are already translated, and I feel that it's pretty self-explanatory!)


	12. Chapter 7 (pt. 2): The Black Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyn and co. find themselves captured by a mysterious foe. They need to find a way to escape, the only question is from whom?...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in just over a week? That's the meaning of "no consistent schedule" y'all...In other words, writing fanfic is a lot more fun than writing my thesis...
> 
> Anyway, it's worth noting that this is likely how I'll be handling gaiden chapters for future reference, save for a couple chapters in particular...
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are very much appreciated. Hope you enjoy!!

* * *

_Chapter 7 (pt. 2): The Black Shadow_

             “…So the brother was rescued by a band of strangers and escaped. Do I understand you correctly?”

             “Yes…we were ambushed, and—”

             “Save your excuses…” The woman’s cold stare bears down on her interogatee. “The end result is all that matters.”

             “Yes, ma’am,” the man replies, bowing his head.

             “And your plan for recovering the brother is…?

             “We’ve word that a group is headed this way with the brat in tow.”

             “They’re coming here?…” the woman asks, somewhat confused.

             “Perhaps they’re after the intruders we captured at the hideout entrance—possibly on their way to try and recover the girl as well. A stroke of luck we kept them alive, no? With them to bait the trap, I’ll grab the whole lot of ‘em; boy and all.”

             “I see…” the woman looks away as the iciness in her voice melts slightly. “Very well—this time, and this time alone you get another chance, but only by the grace of your so-called ‘stroke of luck’…” She turns away and makes for the exit. “I have business elsewhere, but I shall return shortly once it is finished.”

             “Yes ma’am. Thank you ma’am.”

             “You have until sunrise tomorrow, understand?” the woman says, still turned away.

             “Y-yes ma—”

             “Do not disappoint me,” she cuts him off, still refusing to look at him. “If you do not have the children when I return, I shall personally deal you the fang’s punishment by my hand…bear that closely in your mind.”

             With that, the cold woman leaves, leaving her subordinate standing in heavy silence.

* * *

             Lyn groans in pain as she comes to. Her head throbs, her joints ache, and she is acutely aware of the cold, coarse stone that she lies upon. As she struggles to take in her surroundings, she soon finds herself straining against the thick rope that binds her wrists and ankles, making it exceedingly difficult to arrange herself into a dignified or practical position.

             As she finally manages to sit up, her eyes make out her surroundings fairly distinctly, despite the darkness of the room. She sits in a small caged cell with iron bars, and no guards in sight watching over her cell. Looking to her left and right, she sees her companions locked up in their own tiny cells—Dorcas sits the farthest over to her right against a stone wall, already awake, with Mark and Florina between them, still unconscious. Rath lies still in the cell to her left, seemingly out as well.

             “Dorcas…” Lyn whispers through the many rows of bars between them, catching the axe man’s attention. “Do you know where we are?…”

             Dorcas shakes his head somberly. “Some kind of prison, by the looks of it. There are more cells in here, but none of them look to have the girl you described.”

             Lyn slumps against the bars in defeat. Stray tears well up at the corners of her eyes, though sobs do not come. Instead, she turns away and leans back against the bars. She does her best to shift into the least uncomfortable position she can whilst staring blankly at the longs rows of mostly empty cells in front of her.

             She doesn’t know how long she has been staring off into space when Rath’s shifting body draws her eyes. He meets her blank gaze with his usual stoic face.

             “Lin lóLorkau. Lóni mipamaxeinsa, xáesakagógxái én.” _(You know, Lyn of the Lorca, I would not have come with you if I did not trust you.)_

“Hé—” _(But-)_

“Lúxakeisako lunénlóLinin…lunénlóLin- _en.”_ _(I know what happened wasn’t your fault…_ We _know what happened wasn’t your fault.)_ he replies, cutting her off, “Simélémé…” _(It would do you well to remember that…)._

Before she can respond, he turns away from Lyn and goes silent. Thus, Lyn returns to her slumped position with a sigh, resting her forehead against her knees.

             “He-henói…én…” _(It-it’s true…you know)_ Florina stammers softly in the darkness, causing Lyn to turn around, slightly startled, “lu-…lúgxeisa” _(wh-…what he said)._

             “Lolina…faxáġéísa.” _(Florina…so you heard us, then?)_

Florina nods. “I…You could not have known what would happen to us…But I still believe in you, and I am sure we will find a way out of this…” she assures her.

             “…thank you, Florina.” Lyn says, the faintest hint of hope returning to her eyes.

             “Hey…is-, is everyone awake…?” Mark asks with a groan, their voice echoing slightly off the flat stone and iron constructs.

             “I think so,” Lyn replies, still in hushed tones. “How are you all feeling?” she asks.

             “Banged-up, but not severely injured,” Mark answers, the others offering their agreements in turn. “Whoever these people are, they’re no ordinary bandits…” they continue.

             “They were too precise with their strikes,” Rath agrees, “and their formations were calculated to overwhelm and subdue us.”

             Mark nods. “We’ve been kept alive as well, which is a comfort at the very least…”

             “So…what are we going to do?…” Florina asks.

             “Bide our time,” Mark says, “we know next to nothing about our situation. The best we can do is lay low, comply with their desires, and look for a way out of this in the meantime. I suspect we’ll be given meals at some point, which means we’ll get to interact with one of our captors at the very least…”

             “Bide our time, huh?” Lyn sighs, leaning back against the iron bars and hanging her head again.

             This time, however, she feels a hand brush against hers, and she cranes her neck to see Florina leaning against their shared bars and taking hold of Lyn’s hand through the gap between them.

             “ _Kr hréva hla tnshnèþ, jefkrȅfa hnèhna sa skóþ_ …” Florina whispers the dictum of the pegasus knights just loud enough for Lyn to hear, “We’ll figure something out together, I promise…”

             Lyn nods, and gives Florina’s hand a squeeze.

             The silence beats on in the darkness.

* * *

             “Ho, I think I’ve spotted it!” Sain whisper-calls towards the others in the rescue group, who quickly shuffle over to his position. Ahead of them lies what appears to be a spanse of ruins, with not another soul in sight nearby.

             “Are we truly going in there?’ Erk asks with hesitation, also keeping his voice low.

             “Of course we are!” Serra hisses in response. “Lady Lyn and her comrades— _our_ comrades are inside!”

             “Not to mention Nils’s sister,” Lucius adds calmly.

             “But you said this is their stronghold, right?” Erk asks, turning towards Nils, “They’re bound to be well-defended and well-armed, not to mention on high alert if you’ve already escaped from them…”

             “Regardless, there’s no turning back now,” Kent says, a hint of sourness in his voice.

             “Exactly!” Sain agrees, “Our Lady Lyn agreed to attempt this…rescue—we wouldn’t be here if not for that. She believes this is worth doing, and I know that decision was not made lightly,” he continues, glaring back towards Kent. “I’m confident we can win,” he says, turning towards Erk and the others. “Let’s get your sister back, Nils.”

             As the group cautiously approaches the kidnappers’ stronghold, a lone figure watches them from the nearby underbrush. As they disappear down the stairs and deeper into the ruinous hideout, said figure trails behind them, and darts down the stairs after them…

* * *

             The sounds of shouting and banging begin to trickle into the dark prison room from down the hall, drawing Lyn and her comrades’ attention.

             “Is…is that fighting?” Florina asks.

             “It could just be mealtime…” Dorcas muses, “men who resort to thievery tend not to have the best manners when it comes to food.”

             “No, I think Florina might be right…” Mark replies, craning their neck towards the hallway to listen. “It sounds like somebody’s barking orders…but who would they be fighting against?”

             “Bandits are awfully common in these parts,” Rath answers, “some may have stumbled upon our captor’s turf…”

             “Damn, if only we knew _anything_ about this place,” Mark complains, “this would be the perfect distraction for an escape attempt…”

             “Did someone say escape?”

             The group’s eyes are drawn towards a familiar face standing just inside the room. A plethora of weapons are held under his arm, including—

             “The Mani Katti!” Lyn cries, seeing the familiar glow of her sword from within its sheath. “Where did you—?”

             “I thought I’d sneak in here and raid the place while your friends stormed it.” Levin remarks casually. “But I’d recognize this sword anywhere, and I figured it meant you’d be close by.”

             “Why should we trust you?” Lyn asks, staring the thief down.

             “Hold, Lyn,” Mark interjects, “you mentioned ‘our friends’ just now. Who are you talking about?”

             “You know, the ones you were with in Araphen,” he says, mildly annoyed. “Those two knights, the young archer-boy-…they are your companions, no?”

             “So, they came this way after all…” Rath remarks.

             “It seems so,” Lyn answers, somewhat coldly.

             “Lyn…” Florina says, watching the conflict take over Lyn’s face.

             “So, am I letting you all out or…?” Levin asks, impatiently.

             “We’d be in your debt if you would,” Mark replies hurriedly.

             “That’s what I like to hear,” he answers with a grin.

             Shortly thereafter everyone is unbound and given their weapon. “You’re probably missing more of your belongings,” Levin remarks, “but I’ll leave it to you all to get those yourself.”

             “Are you leaving us, then?” Mark asks.

             “Your friend’s face seems to go sour whenever I’m around,” Levin answers, nodding towards Lyn, “Besides, I want no part in your beef with the Black Fang. The chaos you all cause just happens to provide the perfect distraction for me to achieve my…goals here.”

             “Like a vulture waiting for the spoils…” Lyn sighs, shaking her head. “Regardless, thief—I do believe that that is twice you have aided me for my one action in return. This puts me and my friends in your debt—”

             “I’ll keep that in mind next time we cross paths,” Levin replies cutting her off, “but I think for the time being you have more pressing matters, no?” He gestures down the hall, where the sounds of fighting still echo from the commotion. “I’d hate to keep you from your happy reunion.”

             “He’s right,” Mark replies, making for the hallway. “Come on, we’ll want to reunite with the others before anything else!”

             The group nods, and follows after Mark, leaving their saviour behind to loot the hideout at their convenience.

* * *

             “Milady Lyndis!!” Sain calls over his shoulder mid-swing as Lyn and her rescued companions run up behind them. “What took you so long??”

             “We were rescued by that thief from Araphen,” Lyn replies over the chaos of the fight. “We just followed the sounds of fighting from there.”

             “There’s more on their way!” Kent shouts towards Sain from an adjacent hallway.

             “Damn!” Wil exclaims, nocking another arrow, “There are more of them than I expected…”

             “This _is_ their stronghold, I’ll remind you…” Erk grumbles as he launches a ball of flame over the knight’s heads and into the oncoming unit of soldiers. “We should have been more careful!”

             “I saw a narrow corridor on our way here!” Mark exclaims, beckoning everyone towards them. “If we can draw them there, we can engage them in smaller numbers and it’ll be safer!”

             “But if they corner us back there…” Dorcas begins, swinging his axe into an oncoming soldier.

             “In that case, we’d just have to force our way through. But in our current situation, our numbers are spread too thin!” Mark answers.

             “I think our lovely tactician is right!” Sain calls, deflecting a mercenary’s sword into the wall and finishing him with a strike of his own blade. “I suggest we follow after them!”

             The group falls back into a defensive formation, luring the enemy deeper and deeper into the narrow hallways near the prison. As the enemy lines pack together in the tight corridors, the mages and archers have no trouble bombarding them with flurries of spells and arrows. And with enough frontline fighters in the group, they are able to fall back when hit, allowing another to take their place.

             And yet, the enemy lines don’t seem to thin out, no matter how long the fighting continues.

             “It’s no use!” Wil calls towards the front, “There are just too many of them!”

             “They’re wearing us out with numbers!” Kent grunts in agreement, just shaking off the head of an enemy spear, “we won’t last much longer at this rate!”

             “Shit, okay. Everyone, get ready to rush them!” Mark calls. “On three!…”

             Florina ducks out of the way of an incoming sword, thrusting her spear at her attacker and darting past him out of the way of another. She thrusts the back end of her spear into the second assailant, knocking the wind out of him, and kicks his sword aside as he falls to the ground.

             “One!…”

             Lyn shifts her foot as she attempts to gain leverage against the axe-wielder who has locked blades with her. She pushes every ounce of her strength into her upper body and thrusts forward, knocking him off balance, and allowing her to deal a final strike.

             “Two!!…”

             The two knights stand side-by-side, their years of training together letting them fight like one, unified unit. Where one parries, the other strikes; where one ducks, the other beats; where one’s back is turned, the other is there to defend it. Together, they cut down soldier after soldier, locked in an intricate step of swords.

             “Three!!!”

             Dorcas lets out a bellowing war-cry, and charges straight ahead into the sea of blades. His sheer girth alone topples three soldiers, and his axe manages to club another two along the way. The knights follow close behind him, fighting through the enemies he leaves in his wake. The more agile fighters follow behind them—Lyn and Mark with their swords, and Florina with her spear, cleaning up the rest of the enemies that are left behind so that the rest of their group can run forward unimpeded.

* * *

             Together, the group breaks through enemy lines, sending them scattering down the halls. In a tight-knit cluster, they make their way deeper into the stronghold with their combined burst of strength. Like frenzied berserkers, only more graceful and composed, they soon find themselves in front of a door leading into one of the innermost chambers of the ruins. Bursting through the door, Lyn and her group find themselves face-to-face with a lone mercenary.

             “Are you the commander of these mercenaries?!” Lyn demands, her blade brandished.

             The man looks her way but does not respond. His eyes are distant, as if gazing past her.

             “Call off your men now, and leave the girl with us!” Lyn continues. “If I have your vow, I’ll spare your life…”

             The man begins to chuckle and shakes his head. “No…I-…I cannot…” he groans, hoarsely. “You are…too late. The girl is already—…”

             Before he can finish his sentence, he slumps to his knees, and collapses on the ground.

             “Poison…” Rath comments as the group looks on in shock, “He took his own life…”

             “I told you these were no ordinary brigands,” Mark says in response, “These soldiers were trained by a well-organized group.”

             “But what do they want with Nils and his sister?” Sain asks.

             The group turns towards Nils, who looks more defeated than ever. “Ninian…” is all he can mutter in his grief.

             “Nils…” Lyn says, kneeling down in front of him to meet his downcast crimson eyes, “Everything is going to be okay. We’ll find your sister, even if we have to chase these men around the continent twice over.”

             “But-…” Nils stammers, tears forming at the corners of his eyes, “We won’t make it! At this rate, they’ll-…they’ll already have-…”

             “Excuse me. I hate to interrupt…”

             The group turns to the sight of a red-haired knight standing in the doorway. In his arms, he carries the limp body of a girl dressed in elaborate silks. Her long hair hangs over the knight’s shoulder, and it’s colour exactly matches Nils’s.

             “Ninian!!” Nils cries, running over to the knight and girl, “Ninian, are you—?!”

             “Relax,” the knight says comfortingly, slowly lowering the girl to the ground and resting her head against his thigh, “She’s just lost consciousness. She’ll be perfectly fine.”

             “Who…who are you?” Lyn asks, staring down the newcomer.

             The knight bows his head in respect before responding. “My name is Eliwood of Pherae. My father is Marquess Elbert Pherae.”

             “Marquess Pherae’s son…” Sain gasps.

             “She was being toted by a band of ruffians, and looked in need of rescuing,” Eliwood continues. “…was I wrong to interfere?”

             Lyn shakes her head. “No, you saved her life in fact. Thank you.”

             “My pleasure,” the knight responds. “If I may ask then, who are you?” he asks, “I’m not sure I’ve seen your faces before…”

             “My name is Lyn, and I hail from Sacae. I’m-…” Lyn hesitates, “I am Marquess Caelin’s granddaughter.”

             “Marquess Caelin?” Eliwood asks, “then that means—…”

             “Lord Hausen received a letter from Lady Madelyn of Caelin but a few months ago,” Kent begins explaining. “It was the first time the Marquess had heard from his estranged daughter in years. In it, she described life with her husband, and their lone daughter.”

             “Sadly,” Sain continues, “Lady Madelyn and her husband, a Sacaean chieftain, along with the entire tribe they lived with were slaughtered by bandits shortly after she sent her letter. Lady Lyndis here was the sole survivor of the tragedy. We were lucky to find her when we did, as we were quickly ambushed by bandits working for Lord Lundgren, Marquess Caelin’s younger brother.”

             “My grand-uncle, desires the throne, and cannot have it as long as I breathe,” Lyn finishes, “these brave knights have been escorting me towards the land of my mother’s birth so that I can reunite with the only ones I can still call family. In addition, my grandfather is apparently very ill, so it is with great haste that we make for Caelin.” Lyn pauses, taking a deep breath. “I know it’s not an easy tale to believe, but—”

             “I believe you,” Eliwood says, matter-of-factly.

             “…you do?” Lyn asks, taken aback.

             “At first glance, I saw a simple daughter of the plainsfolk. Now I see, though—you have your grandfather’s eyes.”

             “Do…do you know my grandfather?”

             Eliwood nods. “The marquess, Lord Hausen, is a good friend of my father’s. But more importantly, I know the proud people of Sacae tell no lies, do they not?”

             “Yes…yes, it’s true,” she says. “…thank you, Eliwood. I would not have expected such kindness from a Lycian noble to a Sacaen nomad like myself…”

             Eliwood nods again. “May I be of assistance to you in this journey? It seems as though you may be able to use it…”

             Lyn shakes her head. “I thank you for the kind offer, but this is my problem, and I’ll deal with it on my own.”

             “I see,” he responds. He holds the girl’s head steady as she wakes, eliciting cries of joy from Nils.

             “Ninian! Can you hear me? Are you awake?!” the boy’s delighted growls echo off the stone walls.

             “Nils…?” the girl responds with labored breaths as she returns to consciousness. “Is that…really you?”

             “Uh-huh, it’s me!” he replies, taking her hand and holding it in his own.

             “Are you safe?” she asks, “Did they hurt you?”

             Nils shakes his head. “I’m okay, these people helped me rescue you!”

             “I see…” Ninian responds, looking around the room and taking in the unfamiliar faces. “I thank you for your kindness,” she says, her voice still soft, “I am called Ninian. My brother, Nils, and I, we are…travelling performers.”

             “Both of you?” Mark asks.

             “Yep!” Nils responds, “I can play the most invigorating songs on the flute that’ll leave you feeling refreshed!”

             “And you, Ninian?”

             “I’m…a dancer,” Ninian answers.

             “A dancer you say?” Sain says, beginning to swoon, “I’m sure you—”

             “Sain!” Kent snaps, “Please, save it for later…”

             “Er, right…” he responds, sheepishly.

             “But, your clothes,” Wil begins, “they don’t look like any dancer’s garb I’ve ever seen…”

             “That’s because Ninian’s dances are special, sacred even!” Nils responds gleefully, “She dances to honor life itself!”

             “A sacred dance?” Lyn asks, “I…I’m not sure I understand…”

             “Alas…the dancing I do when we travel is but a normal dance,” Ninian answers, sitting up and wincing slightly. “When I was caught, I twisted my ankle struggling against them,” she explains, massaging the offending ankle. “Because of that, I fear I cannot perform my other dance to aid you…I’m sorry.”

             Lyn shakes her head. “Please, don’t worry about it. I’m just happy to see you finally out of harm’s way.”

             “Thank you, milady,” Ninian responds.

             “Will you be able to travel on that ankle of yours?” Mark asks.

             “Well…” Ninian begins.

             “Would it be too much trouble if we…tagged along with you?” Nils asks.

             “Absolutely not!” Lyn cuts in, a note of fear in her voice, “It’s far too dangerous where we’re going,” she continues explaining, “we-…we’re being hunted even as we speak. There’s no knowing when we could be attacked…”

             “That’s okay!” Nils answers, surprisingly cheerful. “We wouldn’t be a hinderance to you! In fact, we could even be of assistance, right Nin?”

             The girl nods. “We do owe you a debt, and we could possibly repay it using some of our…other talents.”

             Nils grins cheekily. “When someone or something poses a threat to us, we can sense its approach!”

             “Truly…?” Mark asks incredulously, “That’s…that’s amazing!”

             Ninian nods in response. “It’s true—we can sense danger’s approach, but we regrettably cannot do anything to stop it. You, however…you are all warriors, so you wouldn’t have to worry about that…”

             “What do you think?” Mark asks Lyn. “There’s no denying that they could be useful…”

             “I-…” Lyn starts, “I don’t know…”

             “Milady…if I may,” Kent says, stepping in. “I do think Mark has a point. Besides, after all the trouble we took rescuing them, I sense it would cause you more worry to leave them behind than take them with us.”

             Lyn sighs. “What about you, Sain,” she starts, “what do you—…oh, never mind, I know what your answer is…”

She turns towards the siblings and kneels down before them. “Do you truly wish to travel with us?” she asks.

             Both nod in unison. “You would have our eternal gratitude, milady,” Ninian answers.

             “Very well,” Lyn responds, standing up. “I do believe these two will be safe in our care now,” Lyn says to Eliwood.

             Eliwood nods in acknowledgement. “Milady, I mean no intrusion, but I’ll be in the area for a few days longer. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

             Lyn bows in response. “Thank you, Eliwood. Truly…”

             “I’m on your side, Lady Lyndis.”

             With that, Eliwood makes a final bow, and leaves.

* * *

             Lyn walks slowly back down the musty halls of the ex-bandit headquarters. Having decided to sleep in the hideout for the night and leave at the break of dawn before more trouble could appear, the group has dispersed to the chambers of their choice, as the accommodations offer more than enough for each to have their own room for the night.  

             She hesitantly knocks on one of the doors and is met with Kent’s surprised face as he opens it.

             “…Milady?”

             “May I come in?” Lyn asks.

             Kent nods after a short pause, holding the door for her as she steps inside.

             “I don’t mean to bother you, but…” she starts.

             “I understand completely,” Kent interjects, “My sincerest apologies for disobeying your orders, milady…”

             Lyn shakes her head. “Actually, it’s just the opposite…” she responds. “I…I wanted to thank you for today…you saved my life, and others too. We would likely still be down in these prisons if not for your actions…”

             Kent shrugs, “If there’s anyone you should thank, it’s Sain. He was the one who dragged us all along.”

             Lyn lets out a small chuckle. “You always are so humble,” she chides.

             Kent doesn’t respond.

             “I…think I owe you an apology,” Lyn continues. “Your past actions and words still hurt, that much is true…however,” she pauses, looking up at him, “it’s true that you’ve stayed loyal to me even when I have directly opposed your guidance. “

             “A knight isn’t supposed to ask questions,” is all that Kent responds.

             “I believe a knight should serve their liege in whichever way they feel is best, even if it means opposing them,” Lyn replies. “I know very little of how the politics of Lycia work, but if I am to learn, I should hope I am served by those who will guide me truly, instead of blindly following orders.”

             Kent nods. “If that is what you desire milady.”

             Lyn hangs her head again. “If I am to be honest, there were moments where I feared you all would not come, after what I said to you before leaving,” she says. “Yet now, I almost feel guilty for doubting you…”

             Kent shakes his head. “Do not doubt yourself, milady. While I cannot claim to have made up for my past actions, I shall vow to you now that I shall continue to serve you the best I can, with my judgement as my guide, yet always with the intent to uphold your desires…will this suffice?”

             Lyn nods, a smile returning to her face. “I think it shall,” she answers, getting to her feet. “Thank you, Kent.”

             “The pleasure is mine, milady,” he says with a hint of a smile.

             Lyn nods, then finds herself stifling a yawn.

             “It’s late, milady, you should get some sleep,” Kent remarks.

             “I agree, and you as well,” she responds. “I shall leave you to do so,” she says, as she makes for the door.

             “Goodnight, milady.”

             “Goodnight, Kent.”

             As she closes the door behind her, she takes a deep breath. When she lets it out, it feels as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She stifles another yawn as she makes for her room, nearly running into Florina as she does.

             “Ah, Florina,” she begins, “what are you doing still up?”

             Florina looks around nervously, her hands clasped in front of her. “Can…can I talk to you…alone?” she asks timidly.

             “Can it not wait until tomorrow?” Lyn asks.

             Florina doesn’t say a word, but shakes her head vigorously back and forth, sending her curls bouncing wildly.

             With a touch of concern, Lyn lets her into her room, and offers Florina a spot on the edge of the bed to sit next to her.

             “What is troubling you, Flor?’ Lyn asks.

             Florina’s face looks determined in the faint torchlight. She takes a deep breath before speaking.

             “Lyn…while we were down in those cells together, I…I wasn’t sure we were going to make it…” she starts, her voice shaking. “I was worried that those would be our last moments together,” she continues, “but you seemed like you needed comfort more than I did, so I told myself that I would be strong for you…”

             “Oh, Florina…” Lyn responds, placing a hand on Florina’s cheek. “Is that what this is about?”

             Florina’s face grows warm, and she reaches a hand to take Lyn’s in her own. “Lyn, I…I’ve been too afraid to say anything until now,” she stammers, “but now that I realize how quickly things could end, I…I just want you to know…” She takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut before managing to squeak out her final words:

             “Lyn…I’m in love with you!…”

             Lyn sits in silence a moment. Florina takes another deep breath and releases the tension that had built up within her in a grand sigh.

             “Phew…” she says, finally opening her eyes. “There. I-…I said it.”

             “I-…Flor-…I don’t-…”

             “It’s okay, Lyn,” Florina responds, squeezing Lyn’s hand as she gets up. “I don’t expect you to feel the same about me. I just…needed to tell you, before it became too late.”

             “I…” Lyn starts, “…I’m sorry Florina…I’m not—”

             “Lyn, please. There’s no need to apologize,” Florina says, planting a soft kiss on the back of Lyn’s hand. “I’ll still be by your side, just like before, okay?” she says, smiling, as her eyes twinkle softly in the torchlight. “Kr hréva hla tnshnèþ, jefkrȅfa hnèhna sa skóþ…”

             “But-…” Lyn whispers.

             “I think you need some rest,” Florina says, “we’ve all had a long day. I’ll let you sleep, and we’ll do our best again tomorrow.”

             With that, Florina leaves and shuts the door behind her, leaving Lyn sitting on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the door. After what feels like an eternity, she finally lies down and closes her eyes, but it is yet another eternity before sleep is able to come to her…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linguistic Notes:  
> -simélémí [si.mɛː.ɾɛː.miː] | Phrase (Old Hanonese); abbreviation of “Si mixé’e, léheko midsódsóngxái”: “It would do you well to remember that.”; lit. “I hear good will happen to you if you remember/think about this”. A common and frequently exchanged pleasantry in Sacaean culture with no true analogue in English; the translation provided is much more literal than the intended meaning, which encompasses more than just “remember this, it’ll be good for you”, but also has strong connotations/intentions of hopes and well-wishes from the speaker to the listener. Perhaps a slightly better, but less literal translation would be “Believe me”, “Trust me,” or “I truly mean it”—sayings which themselves cannot easily be translated into Sacaean languages due to the differing attitudes towards truth and trustworthiness amongst people in both settings. 
> 
> -“Kr hréva hla tnshnèþ, jefkrȅfa hnèhna sa skóþ.” [kr̩ ˈr̥ɛ.vɑ l̥ɑ ˈtn̩.ʃnøθ ɟef.ˈkrœfa ˈn̥ø.n̥a sa ˈskɔθ] | Phrase (Old Barigan; Obsolete): “When the going gets tough, we get going.”; lit. “If this snow doesn’t blow away, the pegasi will still fly” The motto of the Ilian pegasus knights, which expresses not giving up, even in the most unfavourable of conditions. 
> 
> (All other dialogue is pretty self-explanatory/literal imo...)


	13. Chapter 8: Vortex of Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyn and co. are met with resistance at the Caelin border fortress. However, no amount of fighting can compare to the dire news she receives upon her victory there...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy has it been a while -- almost four months I think?? I even missed the one-month anniversary of this project, which is somewhat unfortunate, but thankfully, I have a new update finally!!
> 
> A lot has happened in my life since I wrote the last chapter of this. I graduated with my Bachelor of Arts, moved back home, and have begun to deal with the joys of "real" adulthood fresh out of college. It's been hectic to say the least, but rather than bore you with woes of my personal life, I shall simply state that, while more hiatuses of this length may continue to occur, this project is still very much alive, and making slow, steady progress. 
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! Hope you enjoy!!

* * *

_Chapter 8: Vortex of Strategy_

             The first rays of sunlight peek over the horizon, and through the windows of the captured fort. Lyn stretches, wiping the sleep from her eyes, and slides off the edge of the bed. She winces slightly as her bare feet make contact with cold stone, but she soon stands up and shuffles towards the door to the hallway.

             The sounds of chatter echo from down the hall, and Lyn follows them to find herself in the dining commons. Many of her companions are already awake and have gathered for a meal together. Kent is handing out rations, ever the dutiful knight. Sain is chatting heartily through his yawns and has attracted a small group around him. Rath and Dorcas sit stoically in a corner eating, as if enjoying each other’s silence. Florina and the twins smile shyly at her and wave to her from the other side of the room.

             Lyn can’t help but crack a smile. She closes her eyes and, for a split second, she is back on the plains with her tribe. She can almost hear her father’s hearty laugh amongst the chatter and smell fried fowl eggs on the fire. The sound of wind blowing across the plains sounds faintly in the back of her mind, ever the comforting whisper of hope in desperate times…

             Lyn takes a deep breath and opens her eyes, returning once again to the cold stone of the bandit hideout, but the smile does not fade. No wind blows through her hair, no grasses cushion her underfoot, but the contented chatter of morning pleasantries does not disappear, and a familiar feeling of belonging pulses warmly within her. Family, belonging, relief, a good-night’s rest; she is happy regardless.

             She accepts a portion of rations from Kent, offering him a sincere thanks in return, and sits with Florina and the twins. Florina sports a calm, but welcoming smile, and she speaks with the children softly, but contentedly. All three beam when Lyn joins them, and the twins ask her about the intricate designs of her Sacaean robes, and to tell them stories from the plains.

             Florina smiles warmly as Lyn speaks. She’s heard Lyn tell all these stories several times over but seeing the twin’s excitement brings them new life. And seeing her dearest friend, her love, smiling and chatting comfortably, despite all that has happened—even if it is just a few moments, it brings her unimaginable amounts of happiness.

             “The Lorca may have passed,” Lyn thinks to herself in the midst of a tale of the trickster deity Ikt’umi; the twins’ faces look on in awe, while Florina chuckles softly, having surely heard the tale many times over, “but my family is still here. And no matter what, _no one_ will take that from me.”

* * *

             The group presses on by foot. No longer just a plainswoman and her two escorts, the group has grown so that there are more humans than horses to carry them, and too many inexperienced riders to make travel by horseback plausible to begin with. They trudge on slowly, while the knights scout the roads ahead for signs of danger.

             “Look, Lyn,” Mark says, giving Lyn’s shoulder a nudge and pointing behind them towards the horizon. “Aren’t those the Taliver mountains?”

             Lyn nods. “They look so far away from here.”

             “To think we’ve come so far together,” Mark says, reaching for Lyn’s hand. She squeezes their hand in acknowledgement and feels her face grow warm. Still clinging to their hand, she turns away, yet the two continue to walk in almost comfortable silence together.

             “Milady Lyndis!” Sain’s voice calls out from just ahead. Relieved, she looks towards him expectantly as he rides up alongside the travelling party. “We’re not far from the castle now,” he informs her. “There’s a small fort up ahead that marks the innermost border of Caelin’s territory. By Kent’s reckoning, it’s another two days from there to the castle itself.”

             Lyn nods as Sain rides back ahead to rejoin his partner. “Two more days,” she repeats, looking towards her feet. “Hold on, Grandfather. Please…”

             “I’m sure he will,” Mark says, laying a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. She nods, leaning into their touch and trying to ignore the clenching feeling in her chest.

             “Everything okay, Lyn?” Florina’s voice asks softly, walking up alongside the two of them. “Is there news from up ahead?”

             Lyn turns to see her friend wearing a concerned expression, and she nods, “According to Kent, we are only about two more days from castle Caelin.”

             Florina beams. “That’s great news!” she says, smiling brightly. “We’re almost there!”

             Lyn nods, trying to force a smile.

             “You’re worried about your grandfather, aren’t you?” Florina asks, letting out a small sigh.

             “Mhmm,” she agrees, also sighing.

             Florina suddenly clings to Lyn’s arm and rests her forehead against Lyn’s shoulder. “Cheer up, Lyn,” she says softly, walking awkwardly alongside Lyn without letting go. “If the others see you looking so sad…they’ll all lose heart.”

             “Florina-…” Lyn starts.

             “Please, just a little smile?” she asks, looking up at Lyn. “If not for the others…then for me?”

             Whether it’s Florina’s uncharacteristic forwardness, or the concern in her expression, Lyn can’t help but smile in agreement. “…you are right,” she says, nodding, and taking a deep breath. “There’s nothing to be gained by worrying. We shall just have to press onward and hope for the best.”

             Florina smiles brightly and nods. “That’s the spirit,” she agrees and kisses Lyn softly on the cheek. Her face then turns bright red and she gasps softly. “I, uhm…sorry, I probably should have asked…” she says, fidgeting nervously.

             Lyn chuckles softly, her own cheeks flushing as, ignoring her heart beating wildly in her chest, she returns Florina’s gesture with a soft kiss amongst her frizzy curls.

* * *

             The fort grows larger on the horizon as Lyn and her group approach. The knights have returned to the party’s side and lead the march forward.

             Suddenly, Nils runs up behind Lyn and tugs at her robes. “Lyn, ma’am,” he says, a note of concern in his voice. “Danger approaches!”

             “What did you say?” Lyn asks.

             “Hah, I don’t see anything but the fort’s walls,” Sain exclaims, laughing heartily. “Are you sure?”

             “No, I…I feel it too, I’m sure of it!” Ninian says, a note of panic in her voice. Without warning, her face grows panicked, and she yells out, “Everyone, don’t move!”

             The group freezes, waiting tensely. As if on cue, a large projectile appears without warning, and begins hurling towards them. It embeds itself dully into the grassy path but a few strides in front of the head of the party.

             “What in—where did this—?” Lyn asks, confused.

             “That’s a ballista bolt!” Wil exclaims, cutting her off. “They have a balista!”

             “And we’re out in the open,” Kent scowls, “There’s nowhere for us to take cover here.”

             “That bastard,” Sain exclaims, “Deploying siege engines is no mean feat; Lundgren must be getting serious.”

             “Is there a way to combat it?” Lyn asks.

             “Our best bet is to hurry forward and get in the ballista’s shadow!” Mark says, “We’ll have a fairer fight there!”

             Kent nods. “No doubt Lundgren’s men will be waiting for us at the fort’s entrance. We’ll have to fight through them if we want to continue on.”

             “I feel it again!” Nils shouts.

             “I fear another shot is coming!” Ninian echoes her brother.

             “Then we’d better move!” Lyn calls. “Everyone run!!”

             “Florina!” Mark calls as they see Huey begin to flap his wings, “Do not take to the air! You’ll be shot down in an instant!”

             “Got it!” she calls back, spurring Huey into a gallop instead.

             “Split into three!” Mark calls again, “they’ll have a harder shot with smaller targets! Regroup at the first sign of troops!”

             Each knight splits off, taking a small handful of pre-agreed upon members with them, leaving Lyn behind to lead the third.

             “Wil,” Lyn calls back as they charge forward, “tell me more about this…weapon!”

             “It’s a weapon designed for long-distance attacks,” he says. “Most military archers are trained to use them!”

             “Can you?!”

             Wil shakes his head, “I was never trained! But it’s essentially just a really big bow, so I should be able to figure it out if needed! Why?!”

 _“The best way to fight a new foe is to make it fight itself!”_ she yells back. “Now cover me, I can see the gates opening ahead!”

* * *

             “What’s going on here!?” the commander yells down from the battlements, “Somebody, get that girl!”

             “They’re too close, sir!” the soldier manning the ballista yells back. “We can’t hit them from this range, sir!”

             “Curses!” the commander grumbles, “stupid ballista…” He looks back over the crenellations and watches the quickly approaching group of soldiers. Their numbers are tiny, only a few groups of three or four individual warriors. “It doesn’t matter how good they are,” he says to himself with a smirk, “I have an army at my disposal, I can’t lose.”

             “What are you curs waiting for?!” he then yells back down at his stagnant troops. “They’re nothing but fleas!! Call for reinforcements, then rush them!!”

             “Sir, yes sir!” the battalions respond in unison, opening the large front gates and beginning to flood out of the castle.

             He watches with satisfaction as his men charge forth. He absentmindedly places his hand over the coat of arms on his armour, a red fox holding a yew branch in its tail—the mark of Caelin. “We’ve got them in the palm of our hands,” he monologues, “I’ll show Lord Lundgren what a capable soldier I can be…”

             His pitiful opposition regroups at the first sight of his troops and mounts their defensive not far from the castle gates. A few of them fight on horseback, a pair of knights clad in military-grade armour, no doubt stolen from a pair of unfortunate soldiers. An Ilian mercenary flanks them to one side, while a burly footsoldier wielding an axe watches their other side.

             The offending impostor herself fights upfront in the middle of the fray, much to the commander’s surprise. Her way with a sword is graceful; it resembles nothing of the swordsmanship practiced anywhere in Lycia. He watches as she almost dances from foe to foe, felling even armoured knights and horsebacked soldiers with ease.

             A scowl begins to form at the corner of his lips.

             Their formation holds solid too, as it protects a mixed group of archers and mages, slinging spells and arrows over their comrades’ shoulders. He grimaces further; they fight with an impressive synergy, he has to admit…

             One of the riders, the one in green, breaks formation several times. He actively seeks out enemies and butchers them, going so far as to further desecrate their fallen corpses after they are well beyond beaten. There are numerous times where one of the commander’s own men almost finishes him off with a stray lance or arrow, but the other rider in red always swoops in at the last second to save him.

             The commander curses again. This was supposed to be an easy assignment.

             By now, a mere third of his former army remains, and his opposition slowly makes their way towards the castle gates.

             “Do we have reinforcements?!?” the now panicked commander yells down to his men manning the fort. “They’re headed straight for us!!”

             A small garrison of trainees and bannermen is all that remains. Even if they all took up arms, there are hardly enough men or experience to be sent into battle. Sending them into the fray would be the same as sending them to their deaths. 

             He chuckles dourly to himself. “What a useless lot,” he mutters, as he waves a signal to his bannermen. He gives a short whistle, and two scouts are at his side almost immediately. He gives them but one order—ride to Lord Lundgren and request a backup party. He turns back to the battlements and waves a signal to his bannermen, hanging his head with a sigh as two sustained tones sound from their warhorns. With the order to surrender given, the sound of the newly unfurled white banners atop the castle battlements ringing harshly in his ears, he begins descending the battlements to meet his fate.

             “Surrendering to a band of traitors,” he thinks. “I’ve failed you milord…I only pray you hurry with those reinforcements you promised…”

* * *

             “Look everyone!” Mark shouts as the sound of warhorns echoes across the battlefield. “White banners! They’ve surrendered!!”

             “Then…is it over?” Lyn asks, looking around at the handful of retreating soldiers.

             “I should say so,” Wil answers.

             “Milady!” Kent calls, riding up alongside Lyn, “The enemy soldiers are in full retreat. We should be free to approach the fort without further resistance.”

             “Thank you, Kent,” she answers nodding.

             The group approaches the open gates and files into the gatehouse, where they are met with the surrendered army kneeling and waiting for their approach.

             To everyone’s surprise, Lyn steps forward and approaches one of the kneeling soldiers. She taps their shoulder and, at their confused expression, invites them to stand. She approaches the next soldier, and does the same to them, and continues down the line until all of them, including the commander, are stainding before her. 

             Satisfied, she nods, and speaks to the surrendered soldiers.

             “Xoskok’onxou,” _(Brave warriors)_ she begins, the words coming out in her native Lorcan tongue, _“it is with great shame that we admit the atrocities that we have committed in this hour of our lives.”_ She places a hand over her heart and pauses before continuing. _“To take the life of another, even in times of war and strife, is inexcusable now and always, and we send our prayers to those who have begun their run with the wolves today. Father Sky, Mother Earth, the Brothers Moon and Sun, we offer our apologies, and hope that you will forgive—…”_

             She turns to see her companions standing awkwardly behind her, giving her puzzled looks, instead of kneeling in atonement as is the Lorcan custom. Even Rath continues to stand, and his eyes avoid her desperate gaze. Her face grows red and her words catch on the edge of her tongue as she turns back. The enemy soldiers give each other apprehensive looks, instead of accepting her words with humility. Everything she had practiced diligently at her father’s instruction now rang hollow in a foreign land, and she begins to turn back when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

             She turns to see Kent wearing an encouraging expression. “Milady,” he begins, speaking loud enough for everyone present to hear, “we apologize for our ignorance, since neither we nor it seems our opponents, know of this ritual of yours.”

             Lyn lowers her eyes dejectedly.

             “However,” he adds firmly, “we would be honoured if you would instruct us, so that we may respect your ways.”

             Surprised, she looks up. “…truly?” she asks.

             Kent nods in acknowledgement. “Our Lady is from the plains of Sacae!” he announces, turning to the now silent soldiers. “Her ways may be foreign to us, but you shall listen, and show her your respect all the same!”

             Lyn nods, and sheepishly begins explaining to everyone. “Where…where I come from, on the plains of Sacae, life is considered sacred,” she begins. “Father Sky and Mother Earth…they are angered when someone’s life is taken from them by force. It does not matter the reason, just or evil…to take a life is one of the greatest sins for my people.”

             She pauses, biting her lip, and looks towards her companions, who give her encouraging nods.

             She takes a deep breath and continues. “After a conflict such as this, it is customary for the victors to offer their apologies to not only the gods, but to those who we have wronged by slaying their brethren…It is the chieftain’s duty to honor each individual enemy soldier, inviting them to stand, while his own men kneel before them, offering their apologies. Should the opposing party accept the apology, they are taken as prisoners to atone for their part in causing the conflict. Should they refuse, however…” she pauses, looking back towards the group of enemy soldiers. “…should they refuse, it is seen as disrespectful to the heavens and earth. Their punishment is then decided by the creators themselves…”

             Despite the distressed murmuring that brews amongst the enemy soldiers, Lyn continues to walk both groups through the Lorcan customs of surrender. Her friends dutifully recite their apologies, despite stumbling over the foreign words. And with some stern looks from Kent, the opposing soldiers receive and accept her apologies, and the responsibility that comes with them.

             As Kent and the others lead the prisoners down into the fort’s holding cells, Lyn turns to see Rath riding up alongside her. _“You are an odd one, Lyn of the Lorca,”_ he remarks _“Even one as naïve as you should know our ways are not practiced out here.”_

             Lyn nods. _“I’m perfectly aware. But I am glad to be able to honor my traditions even in foreign lands. I was raised to lead my people honorably as chieftain, and I’ll continue to do so the way I see fit, and no other way.”_

             Rath nods, a hint of sadness looming behind his stoic expression. _“…I hope someday I can show even half the courage you have shown today.”_ he remarks.

_“Your words honor me greatly, Rath of the Kutolah.”_

* * *

             “Kent, my friend,” Sain says as he walks down the dimly lit hall of the prison hold. “I’m here for the next watch.”

             “Thank you, Sain,” Kent answers in acknowledgement. “I believe he has been asleep a while now. I hope he gives you no trouble.”

             Sain nods in return, and watches as Kent walks back down the hallway. He knocks three times on the door to the prisoner’s room and waits.

             Wil opens the door a crack and, upon seeing Sain’s face, opens the door further for him. “I don’t think you’ll need to keep too close an eye on him,” Wil whispers, as Sain steps into the room. Sain’s eyes fall on the imprisoned commander; his hands are bound in front of him and he lies on the ground, facing the back wall.

             “If we had just killed them all, we wouldn’t need to keep an eye on him at all…” Sain mutters under his breath.

             “Sain—” Wil begins, trying to move past to his post outside the cell.

             “Men without honour don’t deserve to live!” Sain hisses, cutting Wil off. “He’s a coward and a traitor.”

             “That he may be, but Lady Lyn requested we take him alive!” Wil whispers back, irritably. “Besides, he might have information—!”

             “And why should we trust a single thing that comes out of his traitorous mouth?!”

             Wil scowls. “Look, Sain, I agree with you. But who’s to say he had a choice?”

             “He—no, not just him; all these men were soldiers of Caelin,” Sain growls, his voice escalating. “I even recognized some of the ones we fought! Ringor, Birengor, Little Lengie!…” Sain looks away, exasperated. “I _trained_ with those men, Wil…and yet they fought us without hesitation.”

             Wil looks on silently. Sain shakes his head and turns back to glare at Wil.

             “They’re all black-hearted traitors now if they’ve joined Lord Lundgren,” Sain huffs. “Good riddance, I say,” he adds with a hollow chuckle.

             “So, you would slaughter these men because they fought against you, under orders, and possibly the thread of death or treason themselves…is that what you’re saying?” Wil asks hesitantly.

             Sain shrugs. “Why not? It means less resistance from here on out. Dead traitors can’t stab you in the—!”

             Sain’s words are cut short with a gasp as something tight wraps around his neck. The commander’s arms, still bound by the wrists, wrap around Sain’s neck like a vicegrip.

             “Make any sound or movement, and I will not hesitate to kill your friend here,” the commander threatens in a low growl, shaking off Sain’s attempts to wrestle free.

             Wil swallows dryly, his hands already hovering at his bow and quiver.

             “I want you to set your bow down,” the commander continues as Sain’s wheezing and struggling grows weaker. Wil carefully slides his bow and quiver off his shoulders and sets them on the ground in front of him.

             “Good…” the commander smirks, as Sain finally collapses in a heap. “Don’t worry,” he says to Wil, who’s eyes snap to Sain’s limp body “merely lost consciousness from struggling.”

             Wil scrambles to grab his bow and nock an arrow, but by the time he has his weapon aimed at the rogue prisoner, the commander has drawn Sain’s knife from the sheathe at the knight’s calf, and holds it awkwardly against Sain’s unconscious throat.

             “Tsk tsk, I had thought you smarter than that, boy,” the commander sneers. “Put that down if you value your friend’s life…”

             “How fast can you slit a man’s throat?” Wil asks dryly, “faster than a speeding arrow?”

             “You’d risk your friend’s life on a shot in the dark?”

             Wil holds the nocked arrow in position, his hand shaking slightly.

             “Besides, I thought taking someone’s life makes the _schpaulvä’s_ gods mad,” the commander smirks. “You wouldn’t want to invoke the wrath of that _sclalem_ now, would you?”

             Wil grimaces at the commander’s words but allows the bowstring to fall slack as he lowers his arms in defeat.

             “That’s more like it,” the commander remarks, still holding the knife between his bound hands. “Now, I want you to take this man’s sword and cut my bonds free,” he orders, still glaring at Wil.

             Wil slowly walks over, reaching for the sword at Sain’s hip and drawing it from its scabbard. He watches, expressionless, as the commander holds his hands out expectantly, the knife pointed downward and away from Wil. Wil slides the sword between the commander’s wrists, lining up the blade against the rope.

             “Remember, any funny business, and you’ll have divine judgement to answer to,” the commander chuckles.

             Wil nods solemnly, to the commander’s satisfaction. He grits his teeth, gripping the sword’s handle tight.

             He takes a deep breath, then thrusts the sword into the commander’s chest with all his might.

             Wil’s wrists rattle as the sword point strikes against the centre of the commander’s chest and glances off the bone to the side. The blade catches against his victim’s ribs, then slides in slowly.

             Feeling a sharp pain in his thigh, Wil suddenly lets go, and the blade dangles and slides out from the commander’s chest. The hilt of the sword catches on the rope around his wrists and falls, askew, to the stone floor with a clatter.  

             The commander’s coy smile has become a shocked grimace and he slumps to his knees, trying in vain to clutch at his chest, his hands still bound in front of him.

             Wil watches in a mix of horror and grim satisfaction as his victim breathes shallow, pained breaths, foaming red blood bubbling forth from the wound in his chest.

             Wil’s face is pale, and his whole body shivers despite his feet remaining rooted to the spot he stands. He looks down and sees Sain’s knife sticking out of his thigh.

             In a matter of minutes, the rouge prisoner lies twitching on the ground, his last breaths having escaped him as the life leaves his body entirely.

             Finally, Wil’s attention turns to the unconscious Sain, and he limps over to him, shaking the knight in an attempt to rouse him.

             “Milady Lyndis!!” he finally calls out as he finds his voice, his hoarse shouts echoing about the stone walls of the cell. “Kent! Serra! Someone—come quick!!”

* * *

             “Sain will be fine,” Serra assures the small crowd that has gathered in the cell. “and that gash in your leg should be good as new by morning. As for our prisoner-…there’s nothing I could possibly do for him. He’s dead, far beyond the abilities of any healer.”

             “How did you let this happen?!” Kent growls at Wil.

             “I told you,” Wil stammers, still shaken. “He caught us off guard while we were arguing…he attacked Sain, and he…he insulted Lyn…!” he continues, stammering. “He could have freed his men and ambushed us, or worse…it was all I could think to do…”

             “Anyone would have acted how you did,” Lyn reassures him, glaring at Kent. “What matters is that we are all safe.”

             “While I don’t deny that everyone’s safety is our priority,” Kent agrees, turning towards Lyn, “the fact remains that we’ve now killed the commander of a group of enemy soldiers with nothing left to lose…”

             “The actions of their commander do not reflect their own character!” Lyn retorts. “We will not punish them for another’s actions.”

             “Well, well,” a familiar voice sounds, causing everyone to turn their heads. “Even with the ballista you managed to take the fort. Nicely done!”

             “Levin,” Lyn scowls. “How _do_ you always manage to turn up at the most… _convenient_ times?” she asks, dryly.

             “Relax,” the thief starts, holding his hands up in front of him. “Besides, what have I ever done for you but offer my aid?”

             “Polished daggers cut better than dull ones…” Lyn says. “But go on, _thief_ , what brings you here this time?”

             “I was minding my own business in the nearby village, just sniffing about for information like I usually do,” Levin begins. “When I heard that the fort had surrendered, I had a hunch it’d be you lot that I’d find here. And for all my trouble, I have some interesting news to share with you…”

             “Well…spit it out then…” Lyn answers, still glaring in his direction.

             “First of all, I have news on Marquess Caelin’s illness.”

             “My grandfather?”

             “As I’m sure you know, he is unwell. He’s been bedridden for nearly three months now.”

             “Is that all you have to tell us?” Lyn asks coldly.

             Levin shakes his head. “No, the news I bring is of an interesting rumour I heard about his condition. The marquess’s illness likely isn’t caused by natural causes, but by someone who has been poisoning him.”

             At this, Lyn’s face grows concerned.

             “And that’s not all,” Levin continues. “This ‘someone’? Well, everyone’s too afraid to mention a name, but they say as soon as the marquess took ill, a certain noble took control of the castle as though it were his own…”

             Kent’s face narrows in contempt.

             “I fed a hungry innkeeper some coin, and he fed me a name. The marquess of Caelin’s own brother: Lord Lundgren.”

             “I knew it…” Kent scowls.

             “But how?” Lyn asks incredulously. “They allow him to get away with such an act? Surely if the townspeople know he is the one poisoning my grandfather, they would do something?!”

             “It’s not that simple,” Kent responds. “They’re afraid, and they lack proof. Against a nobleman, much less a tyrant, the whisperings of the common people mean nothing.”

             Levin nods. “The knight speaks the truth. Not to mention, those of the marquess’s loyal retainers who might have offered credibility to these rumours? No trace of them remains…”

             “Are you saying they’ve been…killed?” Lyn asks.

             “Silenced at the very least,” Levin answers.

             “I can hardly believe this…” Kent sighs, shaking his head.

             “Ah, but I’ve yet to tell you the worst news…” Levin laments.

             “There’s more?!” Wil asks.

             Levin nods again, sighing and speaking slowly. “Whispers in the castle speak of an imposter—that someone has appeared claiming to be the marquess’s granddaughter.”

             “So?” Lyn asks.

             “So…it means that everyone is ready to oppose two traitorous knights, and a baseborn child, who are attempting to lay false claim to Castle Caelin.”

             “That’s ridiculous!” Kent interjects. “Us? Traitors??”

             “Does she have anything that proves her lineage?” Levin retorts.

             The silence hangs heavy in the air as everyone present turns to Lyn.

             Finally, Lyn speaks. “When my mother joined the Lorca…she brought nothing of Lycia with her.”

             Levin turns back towards Kent. “ _‘Against a nobleman, the whisperings of the common people mean nothing,’_ ” he quotes, his expression grim.

             “Would Lady Lyndis’s resemblance to the Lady Madelyn do nothing to prove her heritage?” Wil asks hesitantly.

             Kent shakes his head. “They’ll say we found a look-alike somewhere. Besides, the castle holds us as betrayers of our knightly vows. Our word means nothing now.”

             “Well…what about the word of the marquess himself?” Serra chimes in. “Wouldn’t his word on the validity of his estranged granddaughter trump that of this Lundgren dastard?”

             “Oh, sure,” Kent answers, “Let’s just march right up to the castle and ask the bedridden marquess, I’m sure _that_ will be easy.”

             “Do _you_ have any better ideas?!” Serra huffs.

             “No, I think Serra’s right,” Lyn says. “Our only hope is to see my grandfather himself…if not, then…” she pauses. “…well, I must see him! With our last breaths if need be!!”

             “An admirable spirit, to be sure,” Levin remarks, “But your knight friend here has a point. Should you set out for the castle blindly, the troops patrolling the area will surely capture you, if not worse. As much faith as I have in you, I hardly think your little band of oathbreakers is capable of something of this magnitude…”

             “Where would we even start?…” Wil asks.

             “Let’s worry about it tomorrow,” Lyn says, “It’s late, and we’ll be better off with everyone present if we’re to think of a plan of this calibre.”

             “Agreed,” Kent says, nodding.

             The small group files out of the cell, leaving Lyn with Levin in the dead commander’s cell

             “Levin,” Lyn asks, catching his attention as he turns to leave. “Perhaps instead of appearing and disappearing at your own discretion, you would be willing to join forces with us proper?…” she holds a hand to the bridge of her nose as she continues. “Your extensive knowledge would…well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt,” she adds, almost struggling against the compliment.

             The thief smirks. “‘Extensive’, eh? And offering me a place in your ranks to boot? My my, you have warmed up to me…” he remarks with a wink.

             “Just…” Lyn sighs again, “will you accept, or not?”

             “While I don’t generally associate with lawbreakers,” he begins nonchalantly, “I suppose I could make an exception just this once…”

             “Mmm, very well,” Lyn replies coldly. “Meet us at dawn so we can discuss our plan of attack. And I would appreciate if you would keep your…‘specialized acquirers’ off of our possessions for the time being…”

             Levin chuckles. “If you’re telling me not to gank your stuff, you have my word, milady,” he says with a wink, ducking out of the cell quickly.

             He sulks down the hall, keeping to the shadows, and chuckling to himself. “I’ll have to get a message to milord and let him know I’ll be out a while longer…” he thinks, as he continues down the corridors, searching for a cozy nook to catch a few winks of sleep in.

* * *

             Early the next morning, Lyn and her companions file into a large war room on the fort’s upper level. Lyn and Mark stand at the head of the large table as everyone else, including Levin, takes a seat and waits patiently for the dire news they were informed of.

             Lyn takes a deep breath before addressing the room. “Thank you all for being here on such short notice,” she says. “A lot has transpired as of yesterday evening, and we have called this meeting to bring everyone up to speed.”

             After a short introduction, Lyn and Levin proceed to recount the events from last night, including the news of Marquess Caelin’s poisoning, as well as Lyn and her group’s new status as traitors to the crown.

             “Since we stand little chance of convincing Lundgren or any of his men of Lyn’s true heritage,” Mark says, as the explanation comes to a close, “our only hope is for Marquess Caelin to meet Lyn and decide for himself.”

             “But, if the Marquess’s brother is trying to poison him and take the throne, how are we supposed to go and see the Marquess?” Lucius asks, receiving echoes of agreement.

             “We’re going to fight our way in and see him ourselves,” Serra pipes up with an excited grin.

             “Are you suggesting we’re to attempt to storm Castle Caelin??” Erk asks with a horrified expression.

             “It’s our only hope of succeeding,” Lyn answers as calmly as she can muster. “With no proof of my lineage to speak of, we have no choice but to let the Marquess himself speak on my behalf. If my resemblance to my mother is as obvious as I am told, then all we need is for him to recognize his own granddaughter.”

             “So, not only do we have to storm a well-defended castle, with every neighboring territory seeking us out as traitors to the crown, but we have to do it before the Marquess’s usurper brother can finish poisoning him??”

             “Quit being so cynical, Erk!” Serra scolds, glaring at him. “Nobody said this would be easy and Lady Lyn needs our help!!”

             “Serra’s right, of course,” Mark says, despite Erk’s continuing grumbling complaints. “This plan of ours is extremely risky at best, and with our limited resources, we’ll have a tough fight ahead of us…”

             The rest of the group is silent, hanging on the edge of Mark’s sentence.

             “…is there at least a ‘but’ to this point?” Erk asks, almost pleadingly.

             Mark can’t help chuckle. “I’m glad you asked!” they respond.

“As a matter of fact, there _is_ some hope for us yet,” they continue. “You may recall that Marquess Pherae’s son Eliwood seemed sympathetic to Lyn’s plight when we met just outside of Kathelet not long ago. I’ve sent Rath back towards Kathelet with a message asking for help. With any luck, we’ll be hearing back from him within a day’s time, and can begin to plan our final move.”

             Lyn nods. “In the meantime, we shall make the necessary preparations for our eventual infiltration of Castle Caelin. Help from Eliwood or not, we will likely have to fight our way inside if we are to succeed. Everyone should take this time to rest up and tend to any injuries” she says, looking towards Sain and Wil. “…it may be the last time we get the luxury of rest before the inevitable.”

             With a collection of nods and murmurs of agreement, the group finally files out of the stuffy war room to go about their business.

             There is nothing to be done now but to hope, and to wait…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (No Linguistics Notes this time--the few bits are already translated, or else were so long I didn't even bother including the non-English version!)


	14. A Letter to my Followers (Not a Chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As of 30 September 2018, this project is officially on an indefinite hiatus. Thanks for sticking with me this last year, and here's hoping I'll be able to pick this project up again in the future!!

Hello all,

 

I wanted to extend a warm thanks to everyone who has read, enjoyed, and expressed said enjoyment of this project thus far. What started as exasperation at the characterizations of a few choice characters in the original game of Fire Emblem: The Blazing Sword ended up turning into a vision for a 100+ chapter novelization of the story, complete with my personal headcannons and ideas to combat that exasperation. 

At the start of this project, I had no intentions of releasing chapters in an orderly fashion, but rather figured I would work on various parts at my own pace, and upload the whole document when it was complete, or at least at a good break point (e.g., the end of Lyn's story for the first break, etc.). Of course, in my haste to get attention, start making a name for myself, and to see if my ideas were even "worth" writing about, I decided to throw together the first few chapters in order to see how people would react to this idea. 

And the people who found this fic initially seemed to like it, and that positive feedback was hugely encouraging to keep my writing new chapters as quickly as possible. Of course, at the time, it was summer vacation, so I had little else to do with my days otherwise. And even after summer finished, I was entering my final year of undergrad -- not an easy endeavour per se, but certainly not one that would completely remove my ability to keep writing, albeit at a slightly slower rate than before. 

But still, during that time I was still enjoying writing a lot -- it was fun, it was relaxing, and I loved being able to see my visions come to life, and have others go "Woah, that's so great! I want more!!" 

Now, a little over a year later, I am working a full-time job that takes up 12 hours a day, 5 days a week out of my life (sometimes more), and I find myself with little-to-no motivation or energy to continue writing, even when I find myself in a writing mood with time to do so. I think it's safe to say that I'm hitting a burnout limit, not just with this project, but in my personal life as well. 

That all being said, I really don't want to abandon this project: I still have plenty of ideas, drafts, and more documented on my computer, and my desire to finish this project, as grand as it is, is still burning very bright, despite my motivation and energy not being able to keep up with that. 

Thus, for the time being, I am officially declaring this project on an indefinite hiatus. I would love to return to it at a later time, but I am finding myself unable to keep up with it at the current time, and I felt that declaring this officially would not only be kind to those of you who may have been waiting in anticipation, but also to help prevent this from looming over me going forward; knowing I have declared a hiatus means I can take as much time away from it as I need, and not fear that people are waiting and growing restless about it. 

To those who took the time to read this (perhaps after getting excited about seeing this project updating finally), thank you. I hope to be seeing you again when times are less stressful, and when the words are coming more freely to me. 

Until then, I'll see you all in a while!

Best,

-Pixelpiano


End file.
